


The Greatest Victory

by MindIfISlytherIn07



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Anger Management, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood Magic, Blood and Violence, Dark Magic, F/M, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Jealous Tom Riddle, Jealousy, Love, Mature Harry Potter, Multi, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Tom Riddle, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 130,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26770123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindIfISlytherIn07/pseuds/MindIfISlytherIn07
Summary: *WARNING FOR DARK TOPICS* Rated M for future mature contents. Hermione finds herself over 60 years into the past, with a riddle to solve and a Riddle to handle.."1931… I'm in 1931… 1931." She kept repeating the date as if expecting it to suddenly make sense, as she walked down the corridors and towards the closest exit that came to mind, the One-Eyed Witch Passage leading to Honeydukes.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 178
Kudos: 360





	1. The Beginning

***WARNINGS***

**Hello everyone, before you start reading, I would like to point out that this story may contain future mention (albeit not detailed) of issues that may be disturbing for some. There will be references to child abuse, sex, alcohol abuse, death etc.**

**Having said that, if you are easily impressionable, avoid venturing because I think it will be a fairly dark story.**

**OBVIOUSLY, I don't own Harry Potter or the characters from the book but only the plot of this story.**

**Please review and let me know if the rest of the story is worth publishing.**

**Happy reading, M.**

**Chapter 1: The beginning**

"I am the true master of the Elder Wand." Beads of sweat dripped down Harry's neck, a vein in his temple throbbed.

The silence in the Great Hall at that point was so thick and heavy that it could be cut with a blade.

The whole room had been gasping and holding its breath while Harry, miraculously back from the dead, and Lord Voldemort, kept walking in circles around the room.

Everyone could feel the tension in the air tighten like a string and about to snap. Any moment now. Any second.

Hermione's forehead was slick with sweat and her shirt was soaked and stuck to her body as if it were a second layer of skin.

Her hands were drenched in blood, Fred's blood mostly, as her brain kept reminding her at regular intervals. Ron next to her was so tense he might have exploded into pieces if he had tried to move a single muscle.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

"You fooled me." Voldemort said in an amused tone, he relaxed his shoulders and lowered his wand, "This really backfired spectacularly."

The crowd's eyes were wide with surprise when what remained of the man exploded into loud laughter. From where she stood, Hermione could see Harry open and close his mouth, taken aback by Voldemort's reaction to his defeat, and undecided about what to do with the wand pointed at his enemy.

"Now ... now I see." Voldemort laughed, looking around shaken by an almost hysterical laugh, his eyes full of tears, his reptilian lips curved in an expression that Hermione had never imagined she would see on that monster's face.

Lord Voldemort has gone completely mad, she thought, watching the man bend over in laughter in front of his enemy. Harry was bewildered, to say the least.

"Oh, but it all makes sense, boy, in ways that you wouldn't be able to understand! It goes beyond the predictable, vain death of those idiots parents of yours… beyond their sacrifice, beyond Dumbledore's stupid schemes." Voldemort said wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and stifling laughter.

"Dumbledore beat you!" Harry roared so loud even Hermione flinched back.

Riddle straightened his back, suddenly sobering up, and drawing a sharp gasp from the crowd, " DUMBLEDORE WAS A FOOL!" he roared just as loud, "You talk about Dumbledore as if he were your patron saint, your useful mastermind… tsk." Voldemort raised his wand again and Harry's hand tightened around his, "Let me guess, he revealed all his secrets to you? He sat down and revealed everything about me, about my childhood, about you and your parents, about the wand, the Deathly Hollows... or perhaps ... or perhaps is it accurate to say that you had to find out his plans on your own, the hardest possible way?"

Hermione saw Harry waver for a moment, his forehead frowning in a questioning expression, his confidence dissipating slightly. She knew how he had felt about Dumbledore in the past months, what surprised her was that Voldemort seemed to know too. Was this something he had seen while accessing Harry's mind? Was he trying to distract him? Buy some time?

"What are you saying, Riddle?"

"Oh, Potter, you see, there are things that Dumbledore has conveniently omitted, things that he hasn't told you and oh, to my great joy, there are things that the crazy old man didn't even know. It would be worth bringing him back from hell, only to see his face at the end of this story."

"You're just ranting, Riddle, drop the wand and give up."

"It's too late for that, Potter, try to keep up, boy." Voldemort snapped viciously and they resumed their circles, "But before we finish our little adventure, let me tell you,", again the feeling that the end was nearing made the air tense, Hermione could hardly breathe, her heart pounded heavily in her chest and her hand was convulsively tightening around her wand, Voldemort's eyes seemed to look for something in the crowd and stopped in hers for just a second, he winked at her before returning to face Harry.

Had Lord Voldemort just winked at her? Hermione gulped and frowned, was she imagining things? Was she losing her marbles altogether or simply exhausted?

"Whatever Dumbledore told you about me, it wasn't accurate. He's not the one who knew me best and maybe, maybe it's even his fault that your life has been so miserable, Potter. He has dazed you with his stories about love, but what do you know about love? What did he know? Did you know that Dumbledore loved a mad criminal who almost overturned the Statute of Secrecy? Did you know he locked the love of his life in a cell and he didn't even flinch when I wiped said love of his life out of existence?"

"It's odd that you would want to talk about love."

"Is it, boy? I guess you think you hold the universal definition of the word then, just like dear Dumbledore thought."

"Love is a power you can't understand Riddle, and I believe I proved that to you tonight. You've never been loved and you don't get it, you…"

"You think you know everything." Hissed Voldemort cutting Harry short, his tone had gotten low and dangerous and Hermione had to strain her ear to distinguish the words, for a moment there she thought they were about to switch to Parseltongue, "What do you know about who loved me and who didn't? What do you know about me?" there was something like fire burning behind Riddle's eyes and it felt odd, as if he was restraining himself from saying something else altogether.

Harry seemed to be short on arguments, but he regained his words after a few attempts ending in stammers.

"You were conceived with a love potion, you grew up alone ... an orphan..."

"So did you."

"My parents loved me, they loved me enough to give their lives for me. My friends, they love me and I love them, which is how I managed to protect them tonight, and vice-versa."

"Friends…" Voldemort seemed amused by an inside joke that no one else could get.

"Whatever!" Harry exploded, visibly strained after the events of the night. The boy had died and then risen from the dead, he had gone through FiendFyre, Horcruxes, the death of several loved ones, Hermione couldn't really blame him from being anxious to end this madness, she believed they all were by now, "This has nothing to do with ..."

"Oh this has everything to do with, but you don't get to see it just yet!"

Harry was shaking in rage, ready to hit now.

Voldemort took one last glance around, Hermione found herself wishing he'd look in her direction once more just so she could confirm him doing it the first time too, instead, she saw him nodding almost imperceptibly to a Death Eater in the front row, perhaps Rookwood?

Each of Hermione's muscles strained immediately in anticipation, but the Death Eater did not move and a moment later Voldemort was speaking again, demanding everyone's attention.

"Raise your wand, boy, and may the best or the fastest win, let's get it over with this prophecy. Mark my words though: tomorrow... tomorrow my victory will be final, and I will live, Potter, don't fool yourself thinking that things could be different, this story has a much older beginning than you."

"You won't survive, unless you drop the wand Riddle. We've gotten rid of your Horcruxes… your tale of horror and distruction ends tonight, whether you like it or not."

Voldemort simply shrugged. Shrugged. He looked almost human while doing so.

A red glow suddenly exploded across the enchanted sky of the Great Hall as dawn appeared on the windowsills.

The light hit the two men in the center of the room simultaneously. Hermione raised a hand to block the glow of dawn from blinding her.

"Avada Kedavra"

"Expelliarmus"

And that was it.

The Elder Wand flew high as the one who had held it up to a moment ago fell backwards and crashed on the cold stone floor.

Harry stood with two wands in his hand looking at the empty shell of the monster that had haunted him for a lifetime.

Evil himself died before them, with the same banality as a pigeon crashing into the glass of a skyscraper. It was almost disappointing.

And then hell broke loose around them.

Hermione was pushed back by Slughorn, whom she hadn't noticed standing right next to her, just in time to avoid the red flash of a passing hex.

The battle between the winners and the losers began to rage with renewed fury, a second later Hermione was disarming Macnair, alongside her, Ron and Molly were dueling with Selwyn.

"Granger! Down!" Hermione crouched, dodging the club of a huge troll by the skin of her teeth. The club ended up hitting a werewolf that hadn't been as fast.

"They are running away! Don't let them escape!" Shacklebolt shouted trying to overcome the screams of battle and the crackling of spells.

"'Mione!" Harry appeared next to her out of nowhere, still holding two wands in his hands, still clearly shocked by the death of his nemesis. Hermione felt her heart squeeze with a thousand different feelings.

"Harry! You did it!" Hermione screamed, squeezing Harry quickly before returning to focus on the crowd around them, Voldemort might have died but the battle was apparently far from over, to the great dismay of each of Hermione's aching muscle.

A chilling scream made both their heads snap towards the Entrance Hall. Hermione gasped out loud, Harry growled then they both sprang towards Greyback, who was dragging Professor Trelawney into the park.

As they both crossed the front door Rookwood passed them by, running towards the Black Forest, followed by Professor McGonagall, who was bleeding profusely from a gash on her forehead.

"Go, Mione, go! I have Greyback!" Without another word Hermione bolted in the opposite direction to Harry, following the professor instead.

Hermione ran as fast as she could and quickly caught up with McGonegall, her lungs burned and her muscles were driven by the sheer hope that all this would end soon.

Rookwood crossed the edge of the forest disappearing from view, McGonegall followed him a moment later and Hermione was right behind her, but as soon as she crossed the first line of trees she came to an alt.

For a moment the three stood still in the small clearing where Rookwood had stopped and turned to face his pursuers, all three were panting loudly and held their wands pointed in front of them.

"He's dead, Rookwood, You-know-who is dead. Drop your wand and surrender." Hermione intimated, regaining her breath before the others. Rookwood made no sign of wanting to follow the order but looked to the older woman as weighing up the threat she might pose.

Following Rookwood's gaze, Hermione quickly peeked at McGonagall, the woman was pale and the blood kept dripping from her forehead, soaking her dark cloak. Her wand was pointed but aimed slightly too low to pose a real threat. She would have missed the shot.

"Well, well, if it's not our Golden Girl." Rookwood then said, evidently listing McGonegall as a minor problem, and giving full attention to Hermione.

"I have something for you, Golden Girl, a present if you will." He mused.

"If that's a threat, you better pray that your curse will strike me on first try because I'm not in the mood to play..."

But Hermione winced, giving away how frightened she actually was, when Rookwood raised his free hand to show her its empty palm before proceeding to the inside pocket of his cloak. Rookwood grinned.

"Tense are we?" he snarled.

"Stop where you are!" McGonegall hissed, but Rookwood ignored her completely.

"She said stay!" Hermione shouted, but the man already had his hand in his pocket and she hadn't struck him.

"Or what? You'll kill me? I saw you throwing Expelliarmus and stunners while your friends fell in the battle... not exactly a killer, are you?" he snorted, Hermione was literally trembling with tension, her eyes kept bouncing from McGonegall, standing barely still a few steps away from her, to Rookwood's hand, sunk in his cloak, "Honestly, I wonder what's so special about you ... but it's not for me to say." he continued, then he pulled out his hand, holding it up closed in a fist.

"What is that? Mrs. Granger, run..." McGonegall murmured shaking her head to keep the blood away from her eyes. But Hermione's focus was on Rookwood's grin.

Did all this have anything to do with the sign that Rookwood and Voldemort had exchanged moments before the end? As if seeing the question behind her eyes, Rookwood's grin widened. Was this a trap? Had he lured her in the woods? Why? Why her?

Rookwood's fist hatched only slightly and a small object came down, unrolling from a long chain of gold and dangling between them.

"NO!" McGonegall probably intended to scream, but her voice came out in a strangled whisper. Hermione's mouth went dry instantly when her eyes focused on the nature of the dangling pendant in front of her.

"You can't ... Rookwood, you can't! Listen to me, it's over, don't..." Hermione stammered in agitation but was interrupted by the hoarse laugh of the man dressed in black.

" _You can't, you can't, listen to me,_ " he mocked, "Hush, girl, I have orders to follow."

"Is that what he ordered you? Is that why he gave you that signal? Did He know you would lose and gave you a Time-Turner? You can't go back and save him, Rookwood, I won't let you do it."

"Where did you get that? They were all destroyed that night ..." McGonegall asked in a choked tone, eyes wide and glued to the small and extremely dangerous item.

"My Lord gave it to me." The man shrugged, "One of ours saved it before you could destroy the rest of them in the Department of Mysteries. A very special piece, indeed…"

Hermione knew she had to hit before the man could make another move, before he could use the Time-Turner to change the tide of war.

Her lips parted, ready to spit out a spell, any spell that could separate Rookwood from the Time-Turner, but her mind was suddenly blank and her mouth as dry as if she had bitten into a piece of chalk.

Then, suddenly, three things happened so fast that Hermione barely reacted to them.

A red flash hit a point not far from her, Hermione heard McGonegall's body drop to the ground and someone, Avery? Malfoy?, yelled "DO IT NOW."

When she turned to hit Rookwood she found herself being pulled into an awkward hug instead.

Moody's voice screaming "Constant Vigilance" rumbled in her ears for a moment, while she mentally scolded herself for her carelessness.

Hermione frantically struggled to get away from Rookwood but he squeezed her harder against his chest, pressed something into her palm so hard that he punctured the skin and drew blood, and then whispered "Enjoy your stay."

Hermione felt a familiar energy pull fiercely behind her navel, she blinked pushing herself off the Death Eater's chest and landing on her arse.

Without missing a beat, she raised her wand pointing it up, but Rookwood was no longer there, neither he, the other Death Eater nor McGonegall were there.

Hermione was alone, sitting on the ground of the Black Forest, surrounded by total silence.

Part of her knew exactly what she was going to find in her bloody hand, but she still had to look down to fully believe it.

The Time-Turner laid in Hermione's hand, the glass of the small hourglass was shattered in her palm, the pink sand was slipping in the wounds that the glass had caused. At the other end of the gold chain there was what looked like another pendant, one that Hermione had not noticed before, perhaps because that side of the necklace had always remained in Rookwood's hand during their confrontation.

"Bloody hell!" she exclaimed scrambling back on her feet and turning back towards the school. Had Rookwood gone back with her? Had he already rushed back to the battle? How far back had they travelled? How long did Hermione have to stop Rookwood from intervening in Harry and Voldemort's duel?

Panic pervaded every muscle in Hermione's body, she shove the remains of the Time-Turner in her pocket and started running back towards the castle.

This could not happen, she could not let it happen. Pushed by the purest dread, Hermione broke into the park a few seconds later, surely breaking some record, and she stopped abruptly, analyzing the scene in front of her.

The castle was completely intact, the windows were illuminated from the inside and there was no trace of Voldemort's army on the horizon. The battle had not yet begun. How long before the attack? Hermione began to head toward the castle at a slower pace, trying to trace back the events of that night, to trace back her own movements so as not to run the risk of meeting herself mid-battle.

Her mind raced through the events and she muttered times and places under her breath as she made her way.

"Then the Room of Requirements with Malfoy and… and… the fourth floor… Fred…" she listed, also counting the casualties she might have been able to avoid, on the tip of her fingers.

As she got to the entrance staircase, she instinctively looked at the watch on her wrist, it still showed ten past six in the morning but the hands were now frozen still.

It was safe to say that Rookwood had dragged her back in time at ten past six, it also made sense considering that Voldemort had dropped dead at dawn… but the castle had been attacked before midnight, probably around ten in the evening.

Hermione froze, her jaw dropped.

A Time Turner could not bring a person more than 5 hours back in time, however, even if Hermione had gone back in time the whole 5 hours, she would still have had to find herself in the middle of the battle. Something was not right.

With growing dread, Hermione peered up onto the sky, it didn't seem to be later than seven in the evening.

Swallowing loudly, she ignored her presentiments and hurriedly cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself before entering the castle.

The entrance hall was deserted, there was a relaxed chattering coming from the huge wooden door leading to the Great Hall, where Voldemort's body would lay in just a few hours, Hermione told herself, but even she had trouble believing it by now.

There was something off about the castle that she just couldn't place and that she refused to aknowledge.

Her breath caught in her throat when she heard approaching steps and she flattened against a wall and waited.

Finally a couple of girls emerged from a staircase and as soon as Hermione's eyes landed on their obviously vintage-looking uniforms she knew, without a doubt, this was far more than 5 hours into the past. Her head became light and she felt suddenly very dizzy.

When am I? She wondered refusing to faint and fiercely blinking away the dark dots flashing in her field of vision.

The girls chuckled cheerfully and then disappeared into the Great Hall.

When… what year was it? How could she find out without getting caught?

Maybe she would find a newspaper or a calendar in the Gryffindor common room, with that thought in mind, and gripping to any sanity she could appeal to, Hermione moved to the nearest staircase. Before she could even set foot there the sound of a door being closed stopped her dead in her tracks.

A pudgy woman in a familiar white nurse uniform walked out of the infirmary, followed by a short boy, who could have been a second year student top.

To her horror, Hermione confirmed that it wasn't Madam Pomfrey, and that wasn't a good sign at all.

"You're lucky Professor Dumbledore has been summoned to London and the headmaster is busy in France, boy! You could have lost more points than I deducted."

"Oh please, Mrs. Byrne, don't tell the headmaster!" moped the boy.

"We'll see! Stealing brooms from the shed and flying in the middle of a pack of Therstal! I swear that Gryffindor bravery grows more borderline stupidity every year!"

Their voices faded as they entered the Great Hall, leaving Hermione alone again.

Hermione changed her route from the staircase to the infirmary, deciding that it was closer and safer than the Common Room, and that she could use some Dittany for her still bleeding hand while she was at it.

Hermione entered the aseptic, fortunately empty, and familiar-looking room. She was happy to find that generic healing potions and gauzes were still where they used to be, and after hissing in pain at the Dittany's violent healing action, she looked around for a clue on today's date.

"Bingo." Hermione whispered to herself when her gaze fell on an issue of the Evening Prophet, laid open on the nurse's desk. With trembling hands Hermione turned the pages back to the first.

"Come on, Hermione, be brave ... how bad could it be? You fought a war… this… this is nothing compared to war." she convinced herself, then as if stripping a band-aid, she let her gaze land on the date at the top of the front page.

It felt like a slap in the face, or maybe a punch in the stomach. Perhaps both.

The shock knocked the air out of Hermione's lungs and she froze.

May 2, 1931.

Hermione spun on her heels, grasping her throat for air.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her head spun dangerously and she felt sick in her stomach.

1931? How was that even possible? What had gone wrong? This surely could not have been Rookwood's plan ...

A noise from outside reminded her that she could not stay here or she would be discovered and would not have known how to explain her presence, 67 years in the past.

67 years...

Feeling disoriented and out of place despite the absurd familiarity with the castle, Hermione reinforced the Disillusionment Charm on herself with shaky hands and left the infirmary. She tripped over her feet, which were suddenly heavy and uncooperative, multiple times in the process.

"1931… I'm in 1931… 1931." She kept repeating the date as if expecting it to suddenly make sense, while she walked down the corridors in the direction of the closest exit that came to mind, The One-Eyed Witch Passage leading to Honeydukes.

She reached the third floor, trying breathing exercises, focusing on the steps in order to keep her mind from the thought of having been thrown in a distant era, of which she knew very little and in which, she had no allies nor friends. Damn, she wasn't even born yet.

Once she had entered the secret passageway and the witch hump had closed behind her, when Hermione was alone and confident that she could not be seen, she finally succumbed to the despair that was gripping her chest since much earlier than that evening.

Tears began to streak down Hermione's face and she fell to her knees, overwhelmed by all of the pain she had had to endure since she had been on the run with Harry and Ron. Sniffling and screaming shamelessly, she let her frustration wash off of her together with sadness, fright, mourn and a load of negative feelings she had ignored for way too long.

When she felt like she had no more tears to cry, she curled on herself in a corner and kept crying a tear-less cry, sobbing, hiccupping and letting snot run down her chin. She hid her face behind her hands like she used to do when she was a child. Her hands were still stained with Fred Weasley's blood, the same Fred Weasley, she kept reminding herself, who was not yet born according to the calendar.

Hermione fell asleep in the small secret corridor that led to Honeydukes, exhausted, hungry and sad, while thinking of her parents in Australia, about Harry, Ron, Ginny and the others, trying to wrap her head around the thought that, most likely, she would never see her friends again nor celebrate the end of the war with them.

When Hermione woke up it was early in the morning. She spent a couple of minute blinking blankly at her surroundings before remembering where she was... or when.

Deciding that it was not entirely wise to stay in the secret passageway crying herself to death, Hermione cleaned herself up, and transfigured her clothes into something more akin to what she had seen the two girls wearing in the Entrance Hall the previous night.

Once satisfied by the results, she occluded her mind to her most negative feelings and sat gathering her thoughts.

"Okay, Hermione, think…" she murmured, "1931 ... Dumbledore... I could ask Dumbledore's help…" she reasoned, it was a bit risky to get in touch with people she would meet in the future, but Dumbledore seemed like the safest option, probably the only one too.

But Dumbledore was in London, or so had said the nurse.

"Okay, then, contacting Dumbledore slips to number two on my list. I need a different goal..." Because that was how Hermione worked, as long as there was a goal to reach, she could concentrate on that and forget her struggles and sufferings.

This strategy had worked with her school career, as well as for the year spent on the run searching for horcruxes and collecting clues.

Hermione might have been sent to the past for some unclear reason, but she wasn't going to sit there and despair. No.

Hermione Granger didn't sit around. So she resorted to the usual goal-setting method to try to stay afloat in the chaos Rookwood had tried to drown her

By the time she had crawled out of the passageway and sneaked back into Hogsmeade, Hermione had three items on her list of 'to dos' and her mind set on achieving them.

Getting to London, which was both far enough away for her not to run the risk of meeting people whose stories she could compromise, and familiar enough for her to still know how to move around. Get her story straight. Look for Dumbledore and ask his help.

Once in Hogsmeade, Hermione learned from the big clock in the small square of the Three Broomsticks Inn, that it was eight in the morning of May 3rd, 1931, and she also learned by looking around the small village that most of the shops were familiar to her.

Beaming at the notion, Hermione immediately headed towards the perimeter of the village, towards the Hog's Head, determined to use the pub's Floo to reach London, but it was only once she had crossed the threshold of the pub that Hermione realized she hadn't thought of a few possible scenarios.

Behind the counter stood a large man, almost as tall as Hagrid, and with a beard just as shaggy and dark. The man who was certainly not Aberforth Dumbledore, looked at her with a frown.

"I'm… I'm… Hullo." Hermione said shily pulling her skirt down and sliding her wand up her her sleeve.

"Blimey, i dedn't know Dippet was lettin lassies dis far into de vellage..." said a young man popping out from behind the counter with a crate of butterbeers. Hermione almost gasped out loud at his sudden apparition and he seemed satisfied by her reaction because he chuckled darkly.

The man had striking red hair that gave Hermione half a heart attack, but when she got a better look at him, she found that was the only trait that made him vaguely similar to a Weasley, "You can show yooehrself out, lass, 'Ahg's 'Ead is no marriage bar." Added the red-head turning to wink at the tall and silent guy sitting next to him.

"Excuse me?" Hermione stammered, while blinking in confusion at the young man, now storing butterbeers in a bucket of ice.

"Marriage bar, lass! You wahn't find no 'oehsband 'ere, I'm taken you see?" with that, he wriggled his ring finger "And 'Arahld 'ere, 'e's naht de cahmmentment kida lad." He tilted his head toward Harold, who turned out to be the black haired wizard, still silently staring at her.

"Well, what if I'm not looking for a husband, then?" asked Hermione crossing her arms on her chest and looking around for the fireplace, just to make sure the floo station she remembered was still in place. The pub looked only slightly different from its future version, there were fewer tables and it looked like the hygiene standards were lower than what she remembered. All in all, the place was pretty much the same and the Floo was right where she had last seen it.

"Well, bites me, what else would a lass be lookin fahr?" mocked the red-haired man, raising a brow at her and leaning forward on the counter with a mischievous grin. Harold behind him, groaned and apparently lost his interest in their shenanigans, because he went back shuffling a deck of tarot Hermione had failed to notice up until then.

"Anything else, really," said Hermione rolling her eyes. She briefly wondered how would a 1930s woman react to a malicious Irish bartender and guessed that this was probably not it, "A job or further education, that might come more in handy than an husband. Even a piece of bread would be more interesting right now. I, however, was hoping to use your floo network, if that's possible, sir."

"I swear, dese Dippet lassies,'ll end op spensters, all o' dem." Snorted the bartender, and Hermione felt herself breath again when the man shoulder relaxed and he winked at her, "Da floo, is fahr customers only, lass." He added tapping a finger on a greasy sign on the counter and eyeing her from head to toe with an expression that clearly stated 'and you're not a customer'.

"Well," said Hermione instinctively tapping the empty spot where her purse should have been, "But I don't have money on me, though if you'd let me use the…"

"Aye… I see…" Interrupted the man, a smug grin spreading on his thin lips, "dis is where a 'oehsband might 'ave come in 'andy, lass." He laughed at Hermione's pout.

"Or a job really…" muttered Hermione.

"What was dat, sweetie?" laughed the red-head.

"She said she's goin to 'ex your sorry arse if you keep messin wit 'er, Fennegan." Hermione startled and gasped for she hadn't noticed the blonde girl sitting in a far back corner amongst a bunch of jugs that were magically scrubbing themselves clean, until then. The girl smiled at her and Hermione blushed stammering that 'well of course she wasn't going to hex anyone' but she got completely ignored while Finnegan, laughed gleefully at the woman's word.

"ahh! Now, dat sounds more like sahmethin me wife would say!" he said disappearing behind the counter to then reappear with a second crate of beers.

"Then I'd watch me tongue if I were you, I've heard she's a fierce little thing, de wife." The woman raised a warning finger at the man and he made a show of looking around in fear of getting caught.

Hermione's eyes kept going from the man to the woman and she felt a bit left out when they both boasted in laughter.

"Excuse 'im, lass, he's naht de sharpest tool in de shed, me 'oehsband. If I'd known, I'd gotten meself de job or de bread instead too. But I guess it is a bet late fahr me now, isn't?" said the woman patting her swollen belly. Hermione smiled faintly but before she could say anything else the woman was gesturing for her to sit at the table with her, "I'll make you a deal, lass" she said, "keep me cahmpany over breakfast and I'll let you use de floo." Hermione blushed even more and nodded taking a seat at the woman's table and all the while wondering if the one in the woman's belly was going to be Seamus Finnegan's father or uncle.

"Ahye, wife! you'll be de deat o' me!" whined Finnegan already heading to the kitchen, Hermione smiled at him and he grinned and winked again.

"Serves you right, 'oehsband, now fry some eggs for me friends and me." Taunted the woman.

"Friends? Yer don't even know 'er name, yet you're breakin' bread wi' de lass, an' offerin' floo trips!" Scoffed Finnegan from the kitchen.

The woman growled in reply and the leaned in closer to Hermione, "What's your name, lass?" she asked placing one of her small hands over Hermione's.

"Hermione, ma'am," Hermione hesitated, was it safe to use her own name? It was probably safer than pretending to be any other pureblood she had ever known, she wasn't easily going to pass as a Weasley for sure, and it might have only caused more problems, so after a couple of seconds she opted for "Hermione Granger, and thank you so much for helping me, ma'am."

"Oh don't you ma'am me, 'Eermione!" The woman yelled Hermione's name and glanced at the kitchen with an amused smirk on her face, she then patted on Hermione's hand, "It is nice to meet you and of course, women should always 'elp demselves, leave fights and coehnnery to men!" Hermione's smile widened at those words and she found herself relaxing slightly for the first time since she had been thrown back in time.

"Me name is Meabh Finnegan, 'Eermione, call me Meabh."

"Nice to meet you too."

"And who are you running frahm, or to, 'Ermione? Is it perhaps a lover?" Meabh asked with mocking ease, smiling sweetly when Hermione gave her a panicked look, "Aye, lass, you don't 'ave to say if you don't want to. I was just curious to see such a prahper lady like you bargin into de wahrst pub in de vellage and demandin to use de floo..."

"Who said I'm a proper lady?" Asked Hermione, mostly buying time to get her story straight, damning her choice of sitting down to chill with people she barely knew.

"Well, forgive me nosiness 'Eermione, you're wearin dat unifahrm, o' course I'd dink you were a wealthy sahmeone, not everyahne 'as de money to attend Hogwarts, these days." Shrugged Meabh. Right, Hermione had assumed that Hogwarts had always been accessible to anyone, but now that Meabh mentioned it, she had read somewhere that during the Great Depression and other periods of deep poverty, not being able to offer everyone a free education, the school had let in those who could afford it, allowing everyone else to study in their spare time and take exams when work and life allowed them to.

The realization provided her with an excellent alibi.

"Well, I'm afraid it's fairer to say that I WAS a wealthy someone. I'm trying to go back to London and I don't even have the money for the trip now. I learned that my family can no longer pay for my books… I was asked to find a job and help at home." she said then, being careful to appear distraught by her own circumstances.

Meabh seemed to believe her and hurriedly patted Hermione on the shoulder. The smell of fried eggs and buttered potatoes began to spread from the kitchen.

"Oh, me dear, I am very sorry. You will see, things will get better, this drought cannot last forever."

"Did you say you're going to London?" Finnegan asked, returning from the kitchen with a filthy tea towel resting on his shoulder and two steaming plates full of potatoes, eggs and toast.

"I'm trying to." Hermione nodded, feeling her stomach howl and her eyes fill with tears when the man placed one of the plates in front of her, "Thanks, I really… I'm just… thanks." She stammered.

Finnegan blushed a little and leaned against the table next to theirs, where the jugs were still scrubbing themselves.

"Do they even feed you in that school? You look like you could use a meal every now n'then." The man said and it was Hermione's turn to blush. She might have not been a victim of the Great Depression, but she sure looked like one.

Hermione had spent a terrible year and she knew she looked quite the mess, her hair was fuzzy and dull, her skin was dry and pulled barely over her bones, her cheeks were hollow and she had permanent dark circles around her eyes. The only reason Harry and Ron had stopped taunting her about her unkept appearance was that they didn't look any better.

During the last days before the battle of Hogwarts, Hermione had given herself the final blow, surviving off a soluble coffee and candy based diet. There hadn't been much time for cooking and grocery shopping.

Hermione's throat closed in a tight knot as she felt her home sickness strike again. Harry and Ron. Damn she had to avoid thinking about them right now.

Meabh interpreted Hermione's sudden sniffling as her husband's fault.

"Why, does it sooehnd like sahmethin to tell a lady? You oaf!?" she snorted.

"What did I say!?" Yelled Finnegan blushing a darker shade of red and looking more like the Finnegan in Hermione's future than ever.

"Aye, Ignore 'im, 'Eermione, sahmetimes I'm truly cahnfused on what I ever saw in 'im!" Then she stabbed into her food while glaring at her husband, challenging him to say something else.

Finnegan rolled his eyes to the ceiling muttering something about mood swings and women, but was smart enough to change the subject when both Hermione and Meabh's eyes snapped their heads to glare at him.

"I take it you know 'ow to handle London, do you, lass? It's not that safe over dere these days."

Hermione, who had started to nibble on a piece of toast tentatively, not sure about the new limits of her stomach, gave the man a questioning look. Her knowledge of London in the 1930s was indeed very limited and perhaps this would have been an excellent opportunity to know what she should have expected.

"Well," Finnegan shrugged and dragged a stool from under a table dropping on it, "You may 'ave 'eard frahm your parents already, but de situation 'as wahrsened in big cities. People are desperate, ready for anythin for a piece o' bread. Dere are many more Moehggles who 'ave come from de country 'opin to make mahney. De magical neighbahrhoods are very few by now." He sighed.

"When they're not reduced to streets... like Diagahn Alley and Nocturn in Leadenhall Market, and Prime Rose Lane in Soho." Added Meabh with a sad note to her previously cheerful voice. Her husband leaned forward to take her hand and she quickly smiled away her pout.

"There are very few jobs in the city, not that it's all the better here," said Harold, the huge shaggy man behind the counter, who until then had done nothing but shuffle his tarot cards and rearrange them on the sticky surface of the counter, "I would hire you, but we are also trying to sell the business and move out. There aren't many customers around here now that most of the students are gone. Haven't received many offers up until now though." Hermione nodded to the man that she hadn't expected to speak at all.

Secretly she thought that Aberforth would acquire The Hog's Head shortly, she wished she could tell Harold and cheer him up, as he had been kind enough to consider hiring her knowing pretty much nothing about her, but she refrained from revealing more than necessary.

These people were extremely welcoming and kind and she would have found a way to pay them back sooner or later, but she had to stick to her goals for now.

"If your family needs 'elp, dey're likely to send you to work for some Moehggles," Meabh then warned her, "And even if you get a job in Wizarding London, I'm afraid us lassies don't get any 'f de good jobs, nor de well-paid ones, it would 'ave 'elped if you 'ad some brahther."

"I bet it would have, sadly it is just me." Hermione said skewering the potatoes on her plate and swallowing a buttered bite almost moaning to the sensation of the warm food landing in her stomach.

Once they had had breakfast and Hermione had spent a good half hour chatting with Maebh about more cheerful and futile things, she decided it was time to leave. Hermione wished the Finnigans good luck for their baby, thanked Harold to the point of exhaustion for offering her breakfast and letting her use the Floo, and promised that she would return sooner or later to repay their kindness.

With all the pleasantries over, Hermione finally stepped into the fireplace, accepting a handful of floo powder from a bag Harold offered her.

She cleared her throat and then froze with her hand still raised.

What was she supposed to say? Grimmauld Place was not an option. Diagon Alley, maybe… the Ministry? Where would she most likely find Dumbledore? Just as she was counting her odds though, Maebh cut through her train of thoughts.

"What's wrong, lass?" Asked Maebh, "Lost your tongue?".

"Well…" Hermione blushed to the tip of her ears, "You see, I've never travelled back home with the Floo and I'm not quite sure where should I get off to get home…" she half-lied.

"And to dink you were so fierce and cahnfident when you strahlled in 'ere demandin to use de Floo." Finnegan laughed and then hissed loudly when his wife nudged him hard in the ribs.

"Well of course, dear," said Maebh shushing the giggling men in the background, and summoning a large map, "Let see," She muttered flattening the creases on the parchment, "Where do you live in London, 'Eermione? "

"D…" Hermione paused. She couldn't really say Diagon Alley now, could she? It wasn't the wealthiest neighborhood in London but she figured it was still quite exclusive, especially now that magical communities in the city were shrinking.

She hesitated for just a second more while her brain worked quickly through all the books she had ever read and every documentary she had ever watched.

"So?"

Eventually Hermione shook herself and spat out the name of the first street that came to mind, driven both by the notion that at that time the poorest neighborhoods of London were certainly in the East End area, by the insane number of times she he had read Jack The Ripper and from something else in the back of her mind, that at the moment, she could not quite figure out.

"Dorset Street." She blurted out and immediately squeezed her eyes shut in regret. She could hear Ron laughing at her somewhere in the recess of her mind. Why of all places had she picked that one? It wasn't even close to Diagon Alley… Brightest witch my arse, she bitterly thought.

From the worried and then confused look that Meabh gave her, Hermione wondered if she hadn't chosen a street that sounded just too poor for someone who had attended Hogwarts until the day before.

On the other hand, she knew by then, that no one in that room would have asked her more questions about it, the confirmation came when Finnegan shrugged and approached his wife to peek at the map over her shoulder.

"Well, aren't you lucky, lass. Dere's a wizardly bakery a few streets frahm Dahrset dat serves as a poehblic floo station. You can pahp out dere, Soho Bread and Flour at no.12, dat is." Said Finnegan.

"Thank you, I'll do that then." Hermione smiled widely at the three people watching her, then she dropped the floo powder and spelled the address carefully. The world swirled under her feet.

"She dedn't strike as sahmeone frahm Dahrset street." murmured Meabh when Hermione was already too far to hear.

"She dedn't strike as sahmeone frahm this century." Commented Finnegan sliding a hand around his wife and rubbing her belly with the other one.

"The cards said to trust her, regardless of her lies." Shrugged Harold.

"Oh, Harod… you and those bloody tarots!"

Hermione appeared in a cloud of dust and soot inside a small and dirty bakery, at the corner between George St. and Baker St.

To her greatest relief, the owner of the bakery, an old man with eyes veiled by a thick layer of cataract, intent on kneading bread in doubtful hygienic conditions, made no sign of acknowledging her presence, and she did not bother attracting his attention.

After transfiguring her clothes into something similar to what she was already wearing, but rid of the Hogwarts coats of arms, and, after tying the remains of the Time-Turner around her neck, promising herself to study them later, Hermione hurried out of the shop and into the street.

Seeing London in 1931 was one of the most absurd experiences Hermione had ever had. The roads were about the same but looked completely different at the same time. The people rushing up and down the streets in that neighborhood were mostly very poor and some glanced curiously at Hermione, who was not wearing anything fancy but was still too well-dressed compared to her surroundings.

Hermione watched a small group of women hurrying towards a small shop, all wearing patterned clothes, obtained from what appeared to be feed sack materials, given the stitching and the heavy canvas texture of the fabrics.

A small group of children were playing unsupervised on a street corner and asking for money to passersby. They were dirty and all dressed in identical overalls, which Hermione found quite odd. Some of them did not have shoes while others lacked teeth instead, all of them looked way older than they should have.

Hermione moved through Baker St. very quickly, with no real destination in mind except a quiet place where she could change her clothes into something that would be even less noticeable before making her way to Diagon Alley, which was all the way to the other side of town.

Maybe she could even apparate and save herself some of the effort, if her surroundings would have allowed it.

She turned into a side alley that seemed rather deserted and walked at a brisk pace, holding her wand tightly between her fingers and vowing to deliver a piece of her mind to Rookwood for getting her into this absurd situation if she'd ever managed to get back.

What did the Death Eater have in mind? Why send her so far back in time? And why do it when the battle was already lost?

Unless this had been a huge mistake ... unless Rookwood had really intended to just go back a few hours himself, and save his Lord from death.

How was it even possible to travel back this far with a Time-Turner?

And why had Rookwood whispered those words to her? "Enjoy your stay." That surely didn't sound as him sending her back by mistake.

Hermione pursed her lips in a thin line as the events of the day before poured into her mind, crowding it with theories, ifs and buts.

The alley ended in a run-down iron gate at which Hermione came to a stop. She looked around to check that no one could see her as she changed her clothes once again, wondering how long the fabric would hold up to her alterations before tearing for good. But before she could do much more than point the wand, her eyes landed on the sign that hung half detached from the iron gate.

Hermione's heart shot into her throat, her breath was cut off and she staggered back, leaning against a filthy brick wall.

Wool's Orphanage, she read incredulously several times, with huge and frightened eyes.

This couldn't be. It just couldn't.

Hermione tuned out from her surroundings, her eyes kept sliding along the sign, her heart started racing in her chest at unprecedented speed and she felt like her breakfast was trying to make a comeback.

The conversation she had had with Harry and Ron one evening started buzzing in her brain and she felt like an idiot for not remembering those words before.

_"The result of a love potion ... well no wonder he is incapable of certain feelings."_

_"Yes that, and maybe the Orphanage where he grew up has something to do with it, in Dumbledore's memories it didn't look like a particularly happy place..." Harry said with a shrug, folding the empty packet of crisps that had been their dinner._

_"Sure, what did you say it was called?" Ron asked, sliding the horcrux into the collar of his shirt and out of sight._

_"Wool's Orphanage, I think it was in a fairly infamous neighborhood, the surroundings were not promising, perhaps near ..."_

"Dorset Street." Hermione murmured covering her mouth with one hand and gulping down not to gag. What a fucking fool she had been. Of course Dorset Street sounded so familiar. That's where Voldemort had grown up.

Voldemort who was not yet dead. Voldemort who was not even Voldemort yet, but Tom Riddle. An orphan of about, what? 5? A five years old boy at most. Not the most powerful dark wizard of all times.

A child and not a soul-split monster.

Hermione's mind raced fast between thoughts.

Was that why Rookwood had sent her back? To kill Riddle before he became Voldemort? Why exactly in 1931? Why her? How did he know she would end up finding him? Did Hermione seem like someone willing to kill a child? There were surely more motivated people that night on the battle field... Why should Rookwood have had an interest in eliminating the Dark Lord?

Maybe he thought that if Voldemort had never been, well, Voldemort, then even the Death Eaters would have had a chance at a more normal life? Was this what a Death Eater could wish for? But 'I have orders to follow', Rookwood had said ... what orders? Whose?

Could she really kill Voldemort ahead of time? Could the past really be changed? What would have been the consequences for Hermione's future? They certainly would have been catastrophic ... but what if they would have been still less catastrophic than Voldemort's actual ascent as she knew it? What if this could be a chance to give Harry a normal life ... to save Lily and James Potter, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Moody, Dumbledore, Dobby ... all those who had been affected by the horrors of war, including herself.

Her head was bursting and the number of questions kept growing, she was so distracted by her own shock that she was taken by surprise when a childish voice with a strong cockney accent cut through her thoughts.

"Mrs. Cole said thet eff'n she finds t'other whore out hyar, she will let Mr. Wool take care of it, an 'thet it won't be pleasant."

It took her a moment to realize that the voice came from a bony kid who stood barefoot among some garbage bins. The boy had light eyes and blond hair that were cut very short and badly. He wore overalls identical to what Hermione had seen on the children who played in Baker Street just before, and like them, his expression made him look way older than he was.

Orphans. That's why they all wore the same uniform.

"What?" She asked pulling herself up along the brick wall she had collapsed on.

"Yor a whore, right, ain't yer, guv? Mrs. Cole said she don't want yer workin 'near the bloomin' gates." he repeated the message, as if there was nothing more normal than using such language at that age.

"Well, I'll let you know I'm not a… well a prostitute."

"That's wot evry 'oore says." the boy grinned a toothless grin, then before Hermione could do anything but open and close her mouth producing only a faint outraged sound, he ran past the gate and towards the orphanage without giving her a second look.

Few seconds after the boy had crossed the threshold of the building, an austere-looking woman appeared in his place.

What a little snitch, Hermione thought, patting the creases out of her clothes in the hope of looking less shabby and hiding her wand, as the woman advanced threateningly towards the gate.

The woman, whom Hermione imagined to be Mrs. Cole, came to a stop and gave her a head-to-toe look.

"You don't look like a whore." Well, thank you very much, Hermione thought, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I'm not, just like I told the boy."

"You're too old to be an orphan, and to poor to adopt one of these... Are you here for a mistress? Or for Martha's job?" Mrs. Cole was proving to be a very practical woman, and in those days, Hermione could understand why.

"I'm afraid no one sends me, Madam." Said Hermione.

"Then it must be for the job, come inside, and close the gate. Hurry up, I don't have all day." With those words Mrs. Cole, or the one who Hermione believed to be Mrs. Cole since the woman had not deemed it necessary to introduce herself, returned to the building at a brisk pace, leaving Hermione gaping at the half-closed gate.

She was at a crossroads.

Hermione looked over her shoulder and then back to the front.

She could go away, find a job elsewhere, use the money to contact Dumbledore and study a way to get back to her own time, without intruding into history... or she could enter the orphanage and try to guess if Rookwood had sent her there with a specific purpose, attempt to change the lives of almost everyone she knew in the future, including herself, if that was even possible.

What to do?

Hermione took a step back. What did she think she could do? Kill Riddle, just like that? Kill a child in cold blood? Was she really even considering… she should have ran away. She shouldn't have left Hogwarts in the first place… she could probably find a way back and live in the Room of Requirements until Dumbledore was back… In fact why hadn't she thought of it sooner?

"Are you coming in or not?" Hermione started, Mrs. Cole's head was peeking out the door with a scowl. The blonde boy came out of the building and ran past Hermione pushing her out of his way uncerimoniously and disappearing down the alley and into the main street.

"SO?"

"Coming." Hermione hurried to enter and close the gate behind her.

The orphanage was in better condition than what Hermione had expected. The building was old and quite dilapidated on the outside, but the interior was clean and tidy enough all things considered.

"I am Mrs. Cole, you are?"

"Granger, Hermione Granger." Hermione said following Mrs. Cole past a small entrance into a large dining room.

"How old are you, Mrs. Granger?"

"Seventeen"

"Spinster?" Hermione blinked a few times before the question could make sense to her. Then she made a non-committal sound, which Mrs. Cole had to interpret as a yes, because she gave her a quick encouraging pat on the shoulder before guiding her into the large room.

In the center of the room was a long solid wooden table and an indefinite number of mismatched chairs were lined around it. There was an unlit fireplace and above it the only picture in the room, a portrait of a plump lady with a hideous little dog in her lap.

"This is the dining room, the children set and clear the table by themselves but the little ones must be looked after during meals," said Mrs. Cole, moving quickly towards a wooden door beyond which Hermione discovered there was a small kitchen.

"Mr. Wool and the cook take care of the kitchen, but you may have to prepare a meal from time to time, in that case, always remember to close everything with padlocks, these bloody children devour everything they find unattended, worse than locusts if you are not careful, a plague, I tell you. "

Hermione frowned at the woman's words, the children she had seen in Baker street were so visibly undernourished that she certainly could not blame them for trying to steal an extra ration on the first occasion, but she refrained from voicing her thoughts.

"The bathroom," said Mrs. Cole opening another door along the narrow corridor where she had led Hermione; Hermione peeked into the room, there was only the essentials, a sink, a toilet and a bathtub full of wooden basins, "We wash them once a day, in the evening, the more children you can wring in the tub, the sooner you'll be done. The little ones can play in the basins, and for the love of God, cut their hair weekly over the summer. We had our experience with lice and I don't intend to repeat it. " added Mrs. Cole hastily, instinctively running a hand through her hair.

"How many children are there exactly?" Hermione asked, following Mrs. Cole out of the bathroom and nodding when the woman pointed a finger at a closed door murmuring 'Mr. Wool's room' and then another saying 'my room'.

"There are nine at the moment, seven boys and two girls." Mrs. Cole then said, leading the way over a flight of stairs, "This is the boy's room," the woman opened the door on a rectangular room, with a large window overlooking the courtyard and the entrance gate.

Twelve beds were tucked along the wall, seven of which had been visibly slept in, the others were lacking sheets, and their lumpy mattresses laid turned on their sides. The room did not smell as bad as it could have but there was a faint scent of sweat, dirty socks and crayons.

"The beds need to be beaten and made, you can start here. The girls sleep in the bedroom on the other side of the corridor but they are old enough to make their own beds." Hermione nodded, wondering which of those seven beds was the one that housed the one who would exterminate half the people she knew in the future.

"Before you start cleaning, I'll show you to your room. Well it's still Martha's room but when she comes back from the market, I'll give her the news and she'll clean it up for you tonight."

"Martha… is leaving?" Hermione asked, following the woman towards the last room, a square space with a bed, a desk and a large chest of drawers to which she nodded in appreciation.

"She has found employment in a factory, working hours are longer but wages are better than what we could offer." Shrugged Mrs. Cole.

"And how much could you offer?" Hermione asked.

At these words Mrs. Cole tensed slightly, as if until then it hadn't occurred to her that Hermione might have had a bad salary, she pursed her lips in a thin line and looked at Hermione for a long moment.

"£ 0.19 a day, no more, if you're not interested you can say it right away, although I doubt that you would find better these days."

"Well, Martha has found something better." Mrs. Cole held Hermione's gaze, a dark shadow on her stiff features, "I'll accept, if I can have a small sum in advance to buy a change of clothes." There was no need to inform Mrs. Cole about the real purpose for those money, which Hermione hoped to use to contact Dumbledore.

"Very well, you can start making the boys' beds, then sweep the stairs and clean the windows. By then Martha will be back and you'll go and collect the children from Baker Street together, that is where they spend most of the day when no one has use for them."

"Use?" Asked Hermione with a confused frown. Mrs. Cole looked at her as if wondering if she weren't maybe a bit slow.

"Use… yes. They work here and there, make themselves useful, life is expensive, Mrs. Granger. Anyhow, Martha will guide you throughout the day. I will parry with Mr. Wool to ask him for the money up front. But I can't promise you anything."

With that, Mrs. Cole disappeared downstairs leaving Hermione alone in Martha's room, which was apparently going to be hers by evening. What was she getting herself into?

Cleaning the boys' room and the windows upstairs took Hermione a little over a minute thanks to a couple of charms she had learned from Mrs. Weasley, but Hermione spent an extra half an hour staring out the window and trying to figure out what she would have told Dumbledore.

Meanwhile, she felt anxiety and anticipation grow heavy in her chest.

Soon, she would meet the children and find herself face to face with the Dark Lord in the making. She knew it was silly, but she kept imagining a pale boy with a snake face and big ruby-red eyes. The thought had her trembling. How odd would it be to see Tom Riddle alive again? Only the day before Hermione had seen his corpse hit the stone floor of the Great Hall.

When Hermione finished sweeping the stairs an hour later, a job she had had to do without the help of her wand, Martha had not yet returned and Mrs. Cole was nowhere to be found. Hermione went to sit on the stairs outside the orphanage waiting for either one of the women to show up.

She sat down on the first step, looking at the desolate landscape around her. The air reeked of the garbage rotting under the morning sun right outside the gate. She could see women walking up and down the street outside the alley that led to the orphanage and imagined those were the prostitutes that Mrs. Cole wanted to keep away from the property. Not the perfect spot for an Orphanage really.

Suddenly reminded of something, Hermione pulled out the Time Turner from under her shirt and stared at the broken piece in her palm.

Had Rookwood modified it? Had Voldemort modified it? Was she really going to try and change history? Hermione let her finger pull at the golden chain around her neck until the other pendant, the one Rookwood hadn't allowed her to see, slid in her palm. She looked at the round smooth charm and let her thumb brush over its surface.

Hermione gasped when words started appearing, finely engraved in the gold.

_The greatest victory over death will be life - Forever yours - L.M._

Hermione read the words over and over, afraid that they'd vanish, which they did after a while, only to appear again when she ran her thumb over the charm once more.

L.M. Who was this L.M.?

Lucius Malfoy? The name fit, but it made little sense. Hermione frowned at the words. What did this mean?

"Yer must be the new 'elp! Oi!" Hermione sprung up from where she was sitting, immediately stuffing the Time-Turner back into the collar of her shirt. Her eyes landed on a cheerful looking girl that couldn't have been much older than her, she wore a peach-colored dress that had seen better days, she had a canvas bag hung on one arm and the blond and bony child that Hermione had seen that morning, wrapped around the other, which explained how the woman knew who Hermione was and why was she there.

"I am indeed. Hermione Granger, you must be Martha then?" The girl shook the child off her arm and smiled brightly at Hermione.

"The one and only! I believe this one owes yer an apology, almost scared yer oray this mornin'. How did yer even fink she could be a 'oore, Dennis? Such a yung not so bad lady she is! Right!"

The boy shrug and gave Hermione a defiant glance before looking away offering a reluctant apology and dodging Martha's hand when it came down to strike his head.

"A scoundrel that one is, truly. Yer better wotch out wen it comes ter Dennis Bishop, especially if 'e teams up wiv Billy Stubbs." Said Martha shaking her head and watching as the boy run past the gate and back to the main street cussing loudly.

Hermione made a mental note to do just as Martha suggested and quickly memorized the boy's name, it sounded awfully familiar.

"I believe Mrs. Cole 'as shown yer the house, init? Let me put the grocery dahn, and I'll show yer 'ow ter handle these tossers. Where are yer from, right, Hermione? I can't place yor accent." Martha led the way to the kitchen and started unloading the groceries, mostly canned goods, potatoes and bread, a small sack of flour and eggs.

Hermione fidgeted under the threshold, studying Martha's movements, growing more and more anxious as the moment to meet the children approached.

"Surrey countryside." Hermione murmured blending the words together and quickly changing the subject, "Mrs. Cole said you're leaving?"

"Yes, indeed." Smiled Martha, "Yer came just at the bloody right time, I would 'ave left in two days but I'll 'appily leave yer me room tonight." Hermione nodded.

"Mrs. Cole also said the children are out most of the morning, but didn't mention the activities for the rest of the day." She added.

"Oh yes, Mrs. Cole barely knows wot we do all day, she spends most of 'ers in 'er room," Martha looked around cautiously, then mimicked the action of drinking from a glass and repeated the action several times rolling her blue eyes to the ceiling, Hermione nodded in understanding, "The children go out ter work in the mornin', allright. The wee ones 'ardly leave Baker Street all day. Pick up the ones yer find nearby by lunch. The bleedin' cook will feed them and yorself. After lunch the older ones go hammer and tack to work, the yunger ones stay 'ere and learn ter read and count. Late afternoon the priest passes by for mass and ter test their readin' and countin'. In the bleedin' evenin' they must be washed, fed and put ter bed."

"And what does Mr. Wool do?" Hermione asked as she watched Martha checking that all the kitchen padlocks were properly locked. The girl trembled slightly at the mention of Mr. Wool.

"He shouldn't be a problem if yer keep oray. Just do not stand in 'is way, right, wotever 'e might do ter discipline the children. Do not talk back eever, he 'ates it, init? If they wee ones give yer Barney Rubbles, just mention Guvnor Wool and yer will spot that even the most indomitable of them brats will listen ter yer. But, Hermione, right, if it's not strictly necessary, avoid involvin' Guvnor Wool ... avoid 'im. Right." Hermione took a while to read through the girl strong accent and odd rhyming, but the meaning of Martha's words was all in all clear: keep away from Mr. Wool.

Hermione nodded, thinking that she probably wasn't going to stay in this bloody depressing place long enough to have to worry about Mr. Wool.

"Well then, right, before the cook gets 'ere and starts rumbling' at us, let's go and find them wee pests." Said Martha locking the kitchen with a practical move and leading the way back outside and into the street.

They retraced the stretch of road that Hermione had traveled that morning, and by the time they reached the small group of children Hermione had noticed in the morning, her heart was bursting into her chest and she could barely keep up with Martha's monologue on how handle this or that child.

"Is this' ow yer work, then, guv? Yer gits! Struth!" Martha's words were followed by a series of youthful squeals, while the children scampered towards them, studying Hermione with curious glances.

Hermione looked at them one by one wondering if she would be able to recognize HIM before someone introduced him, but none of their faces rang a bell.

"Fa is th 'lass?" asked a girl whose Scottish accent would have been a real challenge for Hermione.

"She will take care of yer wen I'm gone tomorrow. So introduce yorself, right, and try ter make a good first impression! Honest guv!" Martha announced pulling the girl to herself and violently buttoning the collar of the shirt under her overalls, as if to emphasize the concept.

"Aam Olivia Bruce." the girl said then, holding her glare on Martha, intent on arranging her dress and yanking the poor child left and right in the process. Olivia could not have been more than 10 years old but Hermione wouldn't have known the exact age because, apparently, Olivia didn't know either. All the girl knew was that she 'hadn't bled yet' which caused Hermione to blush faintly and the boys to roll their eyes and nudge each other's in the ribs.

Behind Olivia stood the blonde boy that Hermione knew to be Dennis. He confirmed it by offering her his name and then turned to the next in line with a grin. Hermione discovered that the next boy was the infamous Billy Stubbs, a black-haired boy with small, dark eyes, and a flattened face.

He immediately gave Hermione the impression of a more dull and shabby version of Pansy Parkinson, but she smiled anyway when the boy grinned his name in her face and then whispered something to Dennis that made them both laugh and bought him a slap from Martha.

Dennis and Billy were both 11, Martha told her, as if it were one more reason to keep an eye on them.

At that point the second girl came forward, holding the hand of a much younger child, who could hardly have been 3 years old. The girl introduced herself as Amy Benson and then introduced the youngest as Eric Whalley. Amy was a tall, thin girl with a face full of freckles and brown straight hair that barely touched her shoulders.

She wasn't exactly beautiful but there was something about her that caught the eye. Hermione told herself to pay attention to her, although Amy had posed herself as kind and almost saccharine in the way she handled Eric, there was something behind her eyes that Hermione didn't want to take too lightly.

The last child to approach made Hermione's heart backflip in her chest as she thought for a moment that it was you-know-who himself. Despite fitting the description of Riddle that Harry had given her, light eyes and dark hair, the boy introduced himself as Charles Evans, and although he seemed much younger, he said he was about 8 years if not more.

"Where are the bloody uvvers then?" asked Martha picking up Eric from Amy's arms ignoring his attempts at reaching Hermione's hair, "Donald and Richard, where are them two right good for nuffink?" Hermione frown when no mention of a Tom Riddle was made, but she didn't say anything, just looked from Martha to the children, who were now exchanging looks.

Finally Billy came forward and provided the answer.

"Donald and Richard are at the baker's shop, they deliver for old Wilson all day today." There was a beat of silence then, the children exchanged another round of odd glances and then looked at Martha silently trying to communicate something with their eyes.

"One is missing." Hermione said then, breaking the silence and looking around and pretending to count the children again.

"And what do you know?" Dennis asked, ignoring Martha's murderous gaze.

"Mrs. Cole said there were nine children, Dennis, I count six, eight with Richard and Donald. So it seems that one is missing, isn't it?" Hermione replied in a firm but gentle tone. Dennis studied her silently with malevolent eyes but said no more, it was Amy who spoke instead.

"Mr. Wool took Tom earlier today." the little girl said, spitting out Tom and Wool's names as fast as possible and adding the rest of the sentence quickly, as if to put distance between herself and the two filthy words.

"Oh." Martha said, a tense note in her voice, "Well, we should loaf of bread back and set the table before we anger the chuffin 'cook and Mrs. Cole, right, let's show' ow good yor to Mrs. Hermione" and with that Martha led the small line of children, with Eric in her arms and Hermione by her side, back toward the alley.

"What does it mean Mr. Wool took him earlier today?" Hermione asked in a whisper.

"It means just that. Yer don't ask questions to or about Guvnor Wool, right, Hermione! And Tom usually deserves wot 'e gets, right, believe me. Yer'll see." Martha shrugged dismissing the subject, but Hermione saw the small wrinkle on the girl's forehead and kept wondering if the cause of it was the idea of Tom or that of Mr. Wool.

By dinner time there was still no trace of Tom Riddle nor Mr. Wool and Hermione got so caught up in the daily chores that she quickly forgot all about them. The children were a handful.

She helped with the setting of the table and fed Eric, who had a talent for choking on pretty much anything. He gave Hermione a heart attack when he turned blue choking on the same piece of bread twice. Her genuine fright seemed to amuse the other children who slowly relaxed to her presence.

Later on she witnessed Martha's clumsy attempt to teach numbers and letters to the children, but god bless her, Martha seemed more confused than they were when it came to letters and numbers.

At around six in the evening Father Jones came by. He was a man in his forties with a pestilential breath and hair as greasy and dark as Snape's. The children apparently despised him, enough to stick closer to Hermione despite barely knowing her, even Dennis sat closer to Hermione, leaning slighly towards her for shelter when the priest leaned in too close.

Father Jones recited mass with a boring monotone voice and, when Donald and Richard, two smart-looking red-haired 15-year-old boys, returned to the orphanage, the priest asked everyone some general questions about the bible and then asked them to perform simple additions that the children deliberately took way too long to solve – in the hope, Hermione figured, that the priest wouldn't have time to ask them anything else after.

Hermione was excused from bath time, mainly because the bathroom was already quite crowded without her, so she witnessed the chaos of screams and running children from afar. Martha emerged from the bathroom an hour later with the look of someone who had wrestled a small herd of wild boars and murmuring that she would not miss this job at all come tomorrow.

After a quite crowded dinner, Hermione helped Martha washing dishes, pack her stuff and carry it to the entrance, she then retired to her new room, thanking Martha for her help and then letting the girl say goodbye to the children and to Mrs. Cole, who had emerged from her room brazenly drunk after dinner and had not uttered a word since.

Hermione dozed off curled up on the mattress with the remains of the time-turner splayed on her palm, straining her tired brain to understand what the phrase on the golden pendant could refer to.

It hadn't been long when the sound of creaking stairs outside her room made her sit in bed abruptly. Hermione pulled the wand from her sleeve, where she had kept it hidden all day and approached the door cautiously, trying to peek out from the keyhole but unable to see anything.

Again the stairs creaked and crunched under the weight of someone. Hermione took a deep breath and opened the door, this time with a firm and fast pull.

The corridor was dimly lit by the light of the moon filtering through a window. Hermione stepped out and gasped when she spotted the small figure standing not too far from her.

She was standing in front of a boy with wavy black hair and a diaphanous skin that resembled that of a porcelain doll. Such white and delicate skin that it seemed to sparkle in the dark, framing two frightened and at the same time threatening blue eyes.

Hermione's eyes widened as she found out that yes, she would have recognized Tom Marvolo Riddle at first sight. He was the most beautiful child she had ever laid eyes on, beautiful and oddly scary at the same time. His features were too perfect, too regular, it was all too much.

Tom, who had stopped with one foot on one step and the other on the one below, hurried up the stairs and leaned against the corridor wall, holding Hermione gaze without saying a word.

His was not a defiant glance, Hermione noted as her eyes strayed in his, looking for a red spark that just wasn't there.

Tom was acting rather warily.

To access the boys' room, the boy would have to turn his back on Hermione, who right now, was an unknown woman standing in a dark corridor, staring at him with huge eyes and armed with an odd stick. It was clear that Tom would not allow himself such weakness.

Somewhere in Hermione's mind flashed the thought that a normal five year old wouldn't be so cautious, which meant, he was either naturally overly cautious or had had to learn from experience.

His attentive and deep eyes studied every freckle on Hermione's nose, his small full lips remained tightly closed and he leaned his back against the wall keeping his hands behind his back and his head high.

Hermione blinked rapidly as the faces of the people she had seen die at the hands of that beautiful child flashed behind her eyes. That very child, who looked just like a doll, who now seemed to have nothing in common with the pale and serpentine monster that she had learned to hate, and would inevitably evolve into him.

Why was Hermione here? _Enjoy your stay_.

It was a split second decision, Fred's bloody face flashed in her mind together with Ginny's shattered expression, Harry's sweaty and scarred forehead, her bloodstained hands that morning ... Hermione leaned forward lightning quick. She grabbed Tom Riddle by the collar of his shirt and tugged him violently into her room, closing the door and slamming his small shoulders against it.

Tom made a surprised sound when she yanked him, but didn't move when she dropped her wand on the ground and clasped her hands around his throat, squeezing harder and harder.

Sirius falling behind the veil, Hermione being tortured by Bellatrix on the carpet in the living room of Malfoy Manor, the horrified face of Draco Malfoy, Dobby stabbed to death to fight a war that wasn't even his. All that pain was avoidable.

Hermione squeezed her hands in a deadly grip. Tom's eyes filled with tears, his lips parted and he gasped, but his little hands remained stubbornly soft at his sides. A throaty sound gurgled from the back of Hermione's throat as tears stung her eyes.

The only sound in the room was their gasping and breathing.

She could end it all now. Just like that. It was just that easy.

The Snatchers, Ron splinched in the woods, Dumbledore being killed on the Astronomy tower, Lavender Brown, Colin Creevey, Moody, Tonks, Remus... Teddy Lupin was an orphan and she could have solved that problem too. She just needed to squeeze a little harder.

Tom's face had darkened and his eyes had filled with blood but he looked at her in silence, letting himself die in the hands of a woman he had never seen, with the resignation of a lamb in a slaughterhouse.

He was just a child. A child.

Suddenly Hermione released her grip on his small neck. Trembling violently she pushed herself away from his little body, that slid against the door and on the floor as soon as she let go. Hermione turned on her heels and vomited spectacularly all over herself and the floor.

She could hear the child panting and catch his breath from where he had collapsed on the floor.

Tom Riddle. No. Voldemort. Voldemort. The Dark Lord.

She repeated the name in her mind, over and over, desperately trying to find a way to see the monster he would become, but she couldn't. She couldn't kill him. The realization made her retch once more.

Feeling guilty towards everyone who would have fallen at his hand, Hermione wiped her face with her sleeve and turned to check on him.

Tom was still sitting on the floor, his back against the door, his porcelain neck visibly bruised even in the dark, his defensive eyes were locked in Hermione's and his chest was heaving quickly.

"Are you ... are you ok?" she asked, painfully aware of how stupid it would sound to be to be asked by the same person who had just tried to squeeze life out of him. Hermione took a step towards Tom and finally saw him react, he curled slightly on himself, as a cat who is ready to scratch back. His gaze closed and darkened.

"Sorry I... forgive me, I don't ... I don't know what got into me... " she tried to reach out to touch him, Tom didn't move, but when she touched his cheek he was scortching hot, seething with too much anger for that little body of his.

He turned his face away from her, his nostrils were flaring but his lips were still sealed.

"Tom? You are Tom, yes?" still nothing, Hermione picked up her wand taking advantage of the fact that he was looking elsewhere and slipped it almost completely up her sleeve, leaving just the tip of it out so that it would be easy to quickly grab it.

"Forgive me, Tom, I won't hurt you again. I won't. Can you please, please look at me. Are you hurt?" she took his face with both hands, panicking at his continued silence, wondering if she might have caused him some permanent damage.

"Tom, I'm Hermione, I'm your new caretaker, I will never hurt you again, can you understand me? Are you hurt, Tom?"

Tom finally turned to look at her again, obviously, he had established that she couldn't be trusted, but he probably also wanted out of there and figured answering was his best option.

He hesitated then looked into her worried eyes and simply shook his head no. Hermione deflated and saw him do the same when she backed away from his face and fell on her arse before him.

What did she look like in those horrified eyes right now? Was she any different from what Voldemort looked like in hers?

"Can I leave, now, miss?" He hissed through clenched teeth with a politeness that Hermione hadn't found in any of the other children earlier that day.

Hermione nodded slowly and then stared powerless and disgusted with herself as a 5 years old Tom Riddle, struggled to get back on his feet.

"Tom?" She called back as he reached the door handle. His shoulders stiffened and he turned to face her.

"Obliviate." Hermione exhaled the spell and saw his eyes become empty and distant. She quickly charmed away the bruises on his neck, then she opened the door and led the wobbling boy outside.

Hermione left him facing the door of his room then hurried back into her room, her heart bursting in her chest. Hermione locked the door and slid against it, resting her ear on the wooden surface. Waiting, waiting.

A few second later she heard Tom opening the boys' room door and then lock it again. Hermione released a shuddering breath she didn't know she had been holding and let the tears stream down her face, shaking nervously, crying hysterically untill she finally fell asleep.


	2. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for crude themes, child abuse and bullying.

**Chapter 2: Trust**

_Ron and Harry were glaring at her and muttering something under their breath. Hermione felt the tears sting behind her eyelids but refused to let them fall._

_Okay for Ron, he was the moodiest brat she had ever met, but why wasn't Harry talking to her? Why were they sitting so far away? She looked around for a clue. Oh yeah._

_Ron's stupid rat was apparently more important than their friendship. Hermione wanted to throw up in anger but knew it would do no good._

_As her mom always said, boys will be boys. The problem was that those two, boys or not, were her only friends and seeing them ganged up against her was like going back to freshman year all over again. Hermione ignored their harsh looks and hid behind a facade of indifference, a technique she had decided to copy from Malfoy, which said it all. Secretly, she hid her crossed fingers under the tablecloth, hoping for a second mountain troll._

_Ron rolled his eyes, Harry diverted his, frowning at his plate._

_The scene changed and Hermione was coming out of a classroom, she was holding her books tightly in her arms and was trying desperately to avoid falling victim to a group of Slytherins lurking in the hallway._

_"I still can't believe it, Hermione, of all people!" Harry's voice felt like a blade slipping between her ribs._

_"It's just as if she doesn't want us to be friends again!" Ron asserted in a sour, petulant tone._

_"You two are too strict, she did it with good intentions." Scoffed Ginny._

_"It's a Firebolt, Gin, a FIREBOLT!"_

_"Exactly, Ron, it's a broom."_

_"Enough, Hermione can't be trusted and that's it."_

" _Snitch." Said Ron as the trio passed her without giving her a second glance._

_She couldn't be trusted, could she? But they could trust a mysterious stranger giving hundred-galleons brooms around without leaving a note... "This is getting ridiculous." Hermione muttered._

" _Look, the Mudblood has started talking to herself! Are you finally losing your mind, Mudblood?!"_

_Darn it._

_Draco Malfoy was grinning, him and stupid handsome face. Why would someone so cruel and stupid be so handsome too?_

_Hermione wished she could just punch him straight in his pretty face, too bad he wasn't alone. The Slytherins were laughing, grinning and getting closer._

" _Sod off!" Hermione yelled, trying to walk away, but her feet were like glued to the ground underneath them._

_"They are right, why should they trust you? Snitch ..."_

_"This… this is none of your business, Malfoy!" No this wasn't how the story went. Hermione was quite sure this had never happened._

_"How did you get them to trust you again?" Malfoy was getting closer and closer._

_"What do you want from me?!"_

_"Do you think someone like me could ever trust you?" Draco laughed looking around with smug, collecting consents from his friends._

" _Someone… like you?" Hermione stammered frowning in confusion. Draco's laughter became unnaturally high-pitched and his hair tinged black. He shrunk under Hermione horrified stare, his platinum blond hair turned dark, dark and wavy and he kept getting closer. His steely gray eyes tinged with blue speckles and freckles slowly spotted his nose._

_His beautiful and hateful features slowly morphed and by the time he was standing before Hermione, he was the most beautiful of children. Big blue eyes stared up at Hermione's face from under a set of long dark lashes._

_Tom Riddle smiled at her, then, slowly, he lifted a hand and started choking himself, gurgling and rasping until his eyes got watery._

" _Stop!" Hermione wanted to scream, she tried to move but she couldn't._

_Her hands were glued to the books in her arms and she couldn't drop them, "Please, please stop! I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!" her voice got lower and lower with every word until hers was just a mute mouthing._

_All the while, Tom Riddle was getting paler and paler, but just when she thought he was about to die, a wicked grin spread on his face and his hands dropped to his sides, fading into dark smoke._

_All of a sudden Hermione was staring at a full grown Voldemort._

" _This backfired spectacularly!" his voice echoed in her head, just like during the Battle of Hogwarts, "What are you doing here, Golden Girl?" he hissed._

" _I don't know… I… I…"_

" _WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"_

" _I'm… going to kill you." She whispered, but Voldemort shook his head no._

" _No… you are not. I trust you won't." His face got closer to hers, Hermione could almost smell his foul breath, his ruby red eyes bore into hers, piercing through her soul, "But why do I?" He whispered against her lobe, leaving a trail of goosebumps on her neck._

" _Leave me… leggo… this isn't… it can't be. You're dead." Hermione tried to pull back but found it impossible, her whole body was spasming in fear and disgust but she couldn't escape. Voldemort leaned back just slightly, his reptilian face relaxed in a neutral expression._

" _But the greatest victory will be life." He shrugged, "Can I leave, now, miss?" he asked, his voice glitching with young Tom's. Hermione was taken aback and she simply stared at him until she noticed his neck was badly bruised and immediately guilt took the place of her paralyzing fear._

" _I don't understand… the greatest victory?" she muttered with a frown, Voldemort took a whole step back and smiled nodding, his teeth were sharp and yellowed, Hermione wondered if his tongue would be split too, just like that of a snake._

_He winked at her._

Hermione woke up with a start. She had a throbbing headache and felt like she had barely slept seconds.

Her wand was squeezed painfully against her ribs and her neck and shoulders were screaming in pain on the hard floor. Her hair and clothes were soiled with vomit and her mouth felt dry as parchment.

She groaned when she finally managed to pry her eyes open and look at the bare room that surrounded her. She wasn't at school, Harry and Ron weren't there. Neither was Voldemort, and that served to calm her racing heart.

Hermione sat back up in a creak of bones and held her temples with both hands blinking fiercely in the daylight. What time was it? Where was this place?

"Bloody hell…" Hermione sighed as the memories started flashing before her eyes. She was in 1931, Voldemort was Tom Riddle, and she was a caretaker in an orphanage… reality hit her like a slap in the face and Hermione scrambled to her feet, cussing under her breath at the pain in her head.

"Tempus" she murmured wielding her wand, it was barely past six, after throwing a couple of, sadly unhelpful, Scourgify to her hair, Hermione crawled out of the room and down to the bathroom.

She locked herself in, cleaned up and then filled the tub with a couple of touches of her wand, limiting the effort and the noises as much as possible.

The orphanage was still wrapped in total silence, and Hermione was in no hurry to wake the children up now that Martha was gone... surely she was in no hurry to see Tom again. She could definitely benefit from some time alone, she decided.

Hermione stripped off her dirty clothes and soaked them in one of the wooden basins, adding a series of small charms that she had seen Molly use during her visits at The Burrow, including a deodorant spell Molly used on particularly stinky quidditch uniforms, that her shirt could definitely benefit from.

Hermione then immersed herself in the tub up to her chin, humming in delight at the feeling of the warm water on her tense muscles.

After a few seconds of true relaxation, her thoughts wandered towards the odd dream she had had that night. She hadn't thought of her fight with Harry and Ron in such a long time. Why was it coming back now?

And what were they doing now? Was the future happening parallel to the past she was living in now? Or was this the only reality now? When the thoughts became too twisted and difficult for her exhausted brain to follow and, when she refused to think about the second part of her dream, Hermione ran her fingers along the Time-Turner chain until she found the small pendant.

The writing appeared diligently when she touched the smooth gold.

L.M.

Who the heck was L. M.?

The greatest victory over death will be life...

Hermione wondered if the words might have to do with the fact that she hadn't been able to kill Tom but then dismissed the idea as stupid soon enough. It didn't make any sense.

She dropped the pendant letting it fall back on her chest.

Much like the horcrux, the cold metal was heavy around her neck despite the lightness of the material itself. Hermione promised herself she'd never wear a necklace again in the her life as soon as all of this would be over. Over. Could it ever be over? Could she work her way back home?

Her mind drifted to Tom and a tight knot squeezed her throat. What to do about him? She reasoned.

Tom hadn't had a normal reaction to last night's attack from start to finish. The more Hermione thought about it the more she noticed the details that didn't fit.

Tom had immediately stopped upon seeing her come out of the room, he had carefully avoided turning his back and held her gaze despite being terrified, trying to appear calm and in control.

Any child caught in the dark by something unknown would have tried to run to a safe place, in his case, the children's room. Not Tom.

That child must have been abused before, that was the obvious explanation. He must have learned from experience, Hermione shuddered at the memory of how he hadn't fought her onslaught, that reacting was useless, that the best way out was to go along with the aggression, to wait for the predator to lose interest in the prey.

"Can I leave, now, madam?" That was all he had said.

Hermione gathered her arms around her knees, resting her chin on them and frowning.

Suddenly Amy's and Martha's words from the day before began to buzz in her mind.

_"Mr. Wool took Tom earlier today."_

" _Yer don't ask questions to or about Guvnor Wool, right, Hermione! And Tom usually deserves wot 'e gets, right, believe me."_

" _Just do not stand in 'is way, right, wotever 'e might do ter discipline the children"_

But what exactly did Mr. Wool do to discipline children? Why had Martha been so concise about it? Don't contradict Mr. Wool, don't stand in his way, don't ask questions. Hermione's stomach churned violently.

If Mr. Wool was so terrifying that simply saying his name, could help her handle the children in any situation, at least according to Martha, why had anyone let the man spend a whole day alone with Tom?

_"What do you know about me?"_ Hermione sprung out of the tub with her heart racing painfully as Voldemort's voice, not Tom Riddle's, boomed in her head.

What did she know about Voldemort in fact? Virtually nothing.

Hermione knew that Voldemort had been conceived thanks to a love potion, that his mother had given birth to him in the orphanage and that she had died in the process. Hermione only knew what Dumbledore had shown Harry.

She knew Tom Riddle as a brilliant and cunning student, a charming character who had learned to manipulate people to his liking. She knew him as an unscrupulous monster whose only interests were to rise above the masses and escape death at any cost.

A monster who did not hesitate to try and kill a child just because, according to a prophecy, said child could cause his demise.

On the other hand, what did Dumbledore know about what Tom had experienced in his orphanage years? What did he know about Voldemort's childhood? He didn't know how it had felt living at the mercy of an alcoholic matron, a helper who visibly favored other children to him and Mr. Wool.

Just like he had conveniently ignored how abusive Harry's family had been… now that Hermione thought about it, she could see some sort of pattern there… voluntary or not, that she didn't know.

Tom, however, had been raised in an infamous neighborhood, working and begging for money at such a young age, with prostitutes working the streets right outside the orphanage gates.

Sure Tom Riddle was born from a love potion, which might have been a determining factor in his inability to understand sincere affection, but Hermione was beginning to think that there was more behind Tom emotional deficit.

The abuse, for example, physical and/or psychological, could not have helped. Add child labor to the list.

Hermione grabbed a towel from the rack and began to quickly wipe herself dry, still frowning and muttering to herself, while guilt burned her guts.

If Tom had really spent all day with his abuser yesterday, she felt twice as hideous for assaulting him for crimes he had not yet committed, adding herself to the list of reasons Tom could have become the twisted individual of her future. Sure she had obliviated but still…

"Great, L.M., whoever you are, I truly hope you hadn't set your hope on me killing the boy, because I can barely stomach the idea of someone else hurting him…" she sighed tying the towel around her wet hair.

And then it hit her.

Hermione froze.

Rookwood himself had taunted her for using stunners and minor hexes during the battle of Hogwarts… if L.M. had put him in charge of sending her back in time, there was a good chance this person knew that Hermione was no cold blooded killer.

Was it possible she had been sent back for a whole different reason than the one she had initially assumed?

Anyone who had ever glimpsed at Hermione would know that she was a sucker for lost causes and abused creatures of any kind. If her involvement in Harry's circumstances wasn't proof enough, one could think of how she had founded her SPEW organization, how she had always fought for Neville, for Buckbeak, Crookshank, Sirius…

Was it too farfetched to think that maybe, she hadn't been sent back to kill Riddle, but to save him?

When Hermione emerged from the bathroom, her hair was clean and forced into a soft bun, her clothes were pristine and nicely scented, and she had transfigured them in a light canvas dress with a floral collar and puffed sleeves; she wore a pair of two-tone Mary Janes, similar to those she had seen on Martha the day before and she had a new determination painted on her face and different goals on her to dos list.

If she could not eliminate the source of all evils in a literal sense, she would have tried to eliminate it in a figurative sense. She would save Tom Riddle from Voldemort if it was the last thing she did and if she had to walk all over Mr. Wool in order to do so, there was no way in hell she wouldn't do just that.

"Do not stand in his way my arse." Hermione muttered making her way into the dining room, "I'll figure out what that old dirtbag is up to."

With the determination that characterized her, Hermione set the table for everyone with a few movements of the wand; the children had shown her that they were capable of doing almost everything on their own, but Hermione told herself that, for once, she could spoil them a little.

Considering that they had just lost Martha, a little pampering wouldn't have hurt.

She had just put away her wand when the cook arrived dragging his feet from the entrance to the kitchen.

The cook was a huge man, almost 7'' tall, and was one of Mr. Wool's grandchildren. He worked in his father's blacksmith shop but rounded the salary by cooking for the children at the orphanage.

Frank, as the cook's name was, was also a man of very few words; he expressed himself mostly in grunts and, when the case required it, growls and rants. Knowing that, Hermione was not surprised when the man replied to her 'Good morning' with a non-committal grunt that was cut in half by the kitchen door closing behind him.

With a shrug, Hermione interpreted the arrival of the cook as the right time to wake the children, so she quickly climbed up the stairs and headed for the girls' room first.

Sure, now that she had her new goals set, Hermione would have much preferred to get to work and focus on Tom, learn more about him, investigate on his problems with Mr. Wool, and learn how to win him over as soon as possible. However, given her circumstances, Hermione couldn't blow her cover.

The orphanage would have been a handful but it gave her the perfect position to influence Tom, and if she could also save some of the other children in the process, all the better.

Hermione had seen their eyes and was fairly certain that, if not as badly, they all shared some of Tom's pain.

She flattened invisible creases on her skirt, cleared her voice, and rapped on the girls door.

The door opened almost immediately revealing that both Amy and Olivia were already awake and that Eric had already been dropped into their room, which meant the boys were probably getting ready too.

The girls beds had already been made and, when Hermione walked in, they were brushing their hair while Eric played with a ribbon, chuckling happily in a corner.

Hermione ignored the malice with which Amy held out her comb asking if perhaps Hermione needed to borrow it, and she focused on Olivia instead, who seemed to be having some troubles detangling her own comb from her curly hair and was cussing like a Scottish sailor.

"Here let me," said Hermione pushing her little hands out of the way and assessing the damage before trying to detangle the item from the mane that was trying to swallow it whole.

"She has to do it on her own, Mrs. Hermione." Snarled Amy crossing her arms on her chest with a smug face.

Hermione took a deep breath, summoning the same inner peace she used to pray for when dealing with Draco Malfoy. That's who Amy reminded her of? Hermione snorted to herself.

"It's fine, I'll help her this once and tomorrow we can find a new way to comb this mess… God knows if anyone gets your struggle, Olivia, that is me." Olivia smiled faintly, then grimaced and called down a couple of saints from the calendar when Hermione pulled a strand of hair free from the comb.

"She will never learn if you do it for her." Insisted Amy.

"There's no harm in helping each other, Amy." Hermione said breathing out and pulling at the comb a bit too enthusiastically, "Sorry, Sorry! Let me see… stay still…" she added patting Olivia's shoulder when the girl moaned in pain.

Eric giggled finding the whole scene very funny.

"Mrs. Cole says we need to learn to do things ourselves… otherwise…"

"Shut yer pus, Ame" spat Olivia then, and Hermione struggled not to burst into laughter. Olivia was the oddest child she had ever seen. She reminded her of a wilder Luna Lovegood at times, and her Scottish accent was just the cherry on top, "Thes bludy comb will graw auld wi' me withit Mrs. Hermiaine's help, yoo're just sour coz Mrs. Martha left.".

"Shut your trap, Ollie."

"Ye cried soo much lest nicht a'am surprised ye still have eyes, ye wuss!"

"I didn't!" Yelled Amy, she blushed a Weasley shade of red and launched at the smaller girl, who, far from go and cower behind Hermione, jumped at the tall slim figure of Amy completely unbothered by their obvious physical difference.

"Girls!" Hermione yelled, now trying to keep Amy's nails away from Olivia's face, and Olivia's much more threatening fists away from Amy's.

"She did! She cried!" Yelled Olivia grabbing a fistful of Amy's hair and pulling mercilessly.

"Shut up!" Amy screamed digging her nails in the girl's arm.

Eric in the background stared astonished with his bottom lip trembling dangerously.

"ENOUGH!" Roared Hermione and silence finally descended upon them.

Off to a good start, thought Hermione.

Amy pulled back violently and went to stand under the door again, snorting and muttering threats under her breath. Oliva simply glared at the other girl.

"Kiss and make up?" said Eric looking from one girl to the next with a trembling voice and eyes veiled with fat tears.

Hermione smiled at him.

"Yes Eric, they will kiss and make up," she stopped to throw an ominous glare at the girls when they both made it to say something about it, "Otherwise, there will be consequences." Hermione finished and both girls sealed their lips simultaneously, "Don't be sad, Eric, you're a good boy, aren't you?"

"Eric is good!" He confirmed pointing at his chest and nodding enthusiastically.

"Are you two done?" Hermione asked returning to scowl at the girls. They both ignored her and turned their faces in opposite directions. Hermione snorted and went back to the comb, now stuck seemingly permanently, in the depths of Olivia's curls.

Hermione glimpsed at Amy, who was now openly brooding near the door, visibly upset and possibly looking for the next topic for her nagging.

"I bet everyone will miss Mrs. Martha a great deal," Offered Hermione making sure not to cross Amy's gaze and stabbing Olivia with a glare when she made it to interrupt her, the little girl pressed her lips together then smiled knowingly at Hermione, "I will surely miss her, and I barely even knew her! But we should do our best to keep this place up and running, us girls should team up, help each other… it's just the three of us and all of those boys…"

Hermione threw a quick glance at Amy and smirked when she noticed the girl was blinking rapidly and staring at her feet biting her lower lip.

"Who knows, maybe we will convince Mrs. Cole to let us visit Martha every now and then, what do you think, Ollie?"

"As lang as ye gie thes feckin' comb out 'f me hair..."

"Hey, language." Hermione scowled, "And stay still, will you?" Olivia growled and held herself still holding tight onto Hermione's dress and pressing her face under her breast.

Amy was still well determined not to give in to Hermione, so when she finally turned to meet her gaze, the girl simply shrugged and left the room muttering something about the boys being late.

Amy wasn't going to be easy to charm but it wasn't an impossible feat either.

What Hermione had interpreted as something evil behind the girl's cold gaze the day before, she could now see as hurt and pain. Which was probably what reminded her of Draco Malfoy so much. Amy had the same hard shell as the blonde Slytherin captain form Hermione's time, but, just like him, Amy also had a soft heart and had probably suffered a lot during her childhood, for completely different reasons than Malfoy's, of course.

These children had gone through so much she didn't know, and Hermione couldn't possibly hope to change their life in a day. But she could surely try something.

When Hermione, Eric and a comb-free and braid-haired Olivia made their entrance into the dining room, the others were already sitting and staring at the soup in their plates.

Hermione helped Olivia on the particularly tall stool the girl had chosen, and then placed Eric in his high chair right next to her own. She looked around and raised a questioning brow at the children, all staring back at her in silence.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hermione" they said in an uncoordinated chorus, and then they kept staring.

"You have tae say grace, Mrs. Hermiain." Laughed Olivia when Hermione turned around to see if perhaps there was something interesting behind her.

"Oh." Hermione looked around the table once more and tilted her head, "Aren't we missing someone?"

"I told yer she 'ad a thing for Riddle." Said Dennis in a loud whisper to Billy, who giggled.

"So where is he?" Hermione asked, this time looking at the older boys, Donald and Richard, who were exchanging glances.

"Well, sometimes, when th' governur draps him in late at nicht... ouch, ye son of a wh..." Olivia's attempt at spilling the tea ended up in a loud thud when someone, probably Dennis, kicked her shin under the table.

"Shuddup, you bint." Hissed Billy glancing worriedly at Hermione.

"Sodd off, ye!" snarled Olivia.

"Stop it, both of you!" murmured Amy, pulling Olivia back on her stool and glaring at Billy and Charles, who were both trying to hit Olivia under the table again. Hermione thanked her with a smile and the girl rolled her eyes to the ceiling, but still blushed a little.

"He will not eat with us." Intervened Richard.

All of the children turned to him and quiet spread around the table.

Hermione held Richard serious gaze, pressing her lips in a hard line.

"Is he hurt?" asked Hermione, and despite still looking at Richard, she didn't miss the mischievous grin appearing on Dennis little evil face.

"Nothing that will last long enough if you ask me." Was Richard reply, to which Hermione's stomach churned with apprehension. Of course Tom was hurt, she had half strangled him to death and Merlin only knew what had Mr. Wool done to him earlier. And just how awful was Tom if most of the other children would simply leave him to his faith without worrying about him? What had he ever done to them? Couldn't they feel for the poor little thing?

Hermione had seen people die at his hands and still she felt horrible for him… what was his relationship with the other children?

The air had grown tense around the table and Hermione figured that if she ever hoped to spend some time alone with Tom and learn about him, she had to get rid of the other children.

With that in mind, she simply nodded at Richard's words, refraining from snapping at him for not checking on the younger child. She told herself that Richard was just another orphan and that there was no way he would know that all of the hurt Tom was experiencing would have far more permanent damages than he could ever imagine.

Hermione took Eric's hands between hers and recited prayer while the children exchanged odd glances.

The children ate their food discussing the plans for the day. Apparently Donald and Richard would work in the fish market, as every Tuesday. Billy and Dennis would tag along, hoping to find some older fishermen in need of some extra help.

To his displeasure, Charles would spend his Tuesday on Baker Street with the younger children and the girls, begging for money and keeping out of Mrs. Cole's way.

Sometimes, passersby would hire the girls for a few hours, mostly to help with household chores or grocery shopping, in exchange for a few pence or a piece of bread. If so, it would be Charles responsibility, an 8-year responsibility Hermione thought with despair as she was given the information, to go with the girls and make sure they weren't harassed or worse.

Hermione didn't like the idea that the children would spend all day at the mercy of the city, working or begging. She would have preferred to have them stay in the orphanage, maybe spend their mornings studying and playing, but she knew she couldn't change the way things were, at least not right away.

Plus she was itching to flee upstairs and check on Tom.

When the time came, Hermione made a disconsolate sound as Amy took a sleepy Eric from her, but she said nothing as the children greeted her one by one and left.

Olivia kissed Hermione on the cheek, making Amy's eyes roll so hard that they almost made a sound of their own.

With that the little procession disappeared beyond the iron gate and off into the alley.

"Finally ... those little voices were digging a hole in my brain." Mrs. Cole was massaging the bridge of her nose with shaky fingers, "Ah my migraine is killing me today ..." the woman added.

Hermione refrained from saying that Mrs. Cole's 'migraine' would have been easily avoidable had the woman stopped drinking, instead she offered Mrs. Cole a look she hoped would pass as compassionate.

"I'm very sorry Mrs. Cole, can I do something for you? Would you like some tea? There is still some soup in the kitchen, the cook is already gone but I can heat it myself." But Mrs. Cole waved a hand dismissing each of her offerings and sitting down at the dining table with her head in her hands.

Hermione shrugged and started to head upstairs, but before she could take more than two steps, Mrs. Cole's voice called her back.

"Mrs. Hermione, where are you going?"

"…Making the boys' beds?"

"Martha isn't here today and someone has to go to the market. Mr. Wool has dinner with us on Tuesdays, you have to go buy some cream cheese at the shop, some butter and fresh bread too."

Mr. Wool… finally, Hermione would have met with the mysterious man.

"Of course," She said, "Although, I'm not sure I know where the shops are, Mrs. Cole."

"Take one of the girls with you, Amy knows where to go. Here is £ 0.25, that should be enough for the essentials." Hermione accepted a small bag of clinking coins.

"And here, there's £ 1 for you, for the down payment we talked about."

Hermione took a second smaller pouch and murmured thank you. She then lingered on the spot, fidgeting with the little cord that was keeping the pouch sealed.

"For the love of God, Mrs. Hermione, what is it? I couldn't possibly ask for more, it took me hours to talk Mr. Wool into that amount already!" Snapped Mrs. Cole exhaling and massaging her temples with more emphasis.

Hermione made a couple of attempts before actually managing to find her words.

"It's not about the money! No… I was just wondering… What about Tom?" she asked.

Mrs. Cole lifted her eyes from the wooden table and quirked a puzzled brow at her "What about that little pest? Has he done something? I swear to God, that child…" Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and spoke again before Mrs. Cole could start rumbling about how horrible Tom was.

"Does he know where the shops are?" Mrs. Cole's lips sealed immediately and the woman stared at the girl standing before her with a mixture of worry and disbelief.

Hermione wondered if perhaps Mrs. Cole had damaged her brain with all the drinking but right when she was about to repeat her question, Mrs. Cole spoke again.

"Why would you want to take Tom? He'll probably trick you in buying the wrong stuff and there would be no one else to blame but you after that."

"Well," said Hermione tentatively, "I happen to have some money of my own in that case. I'm sure it would be enough to fix such a mistake." She let the small pouch with her 1£ swing between herself and Mrs. Cole, but the older woman looked only more confused.

She held Hermione's determined stare for a while more, then she simply shrugged and snorted out loud, bringing her head between her hands once more, rubbing it vigorously at the temples.

"Mrs. Hermione, are you asking me if you can take Tom with you, or are you telling me that you will?"

"I guess, I'm telling you." Hermione blushed slightly.

"Fine, good luck with that and If you even manage to, don't come crying to me later. Now go, my head is about to burst open..."

Hermione bolted out of the room before the woman could change her mind. She was up the stairs and standing in front of the door leading to the boys room in a matter of seconds.

Images of the previous night danced before her eyes and she stopped, hesitating in front of the door.

She could still see him… a tiny Tom Riddle, lying on the floor of her room, panting and trembling, frightened, but angry enough to get a fever.

He doesn't remember it. She repeated to herself over and over again, wishing someone could obliviate the feeling of her hands wrapped around the child throat from her mind too.

When her breathing normalized, Hermione finally placed her hand on the doorknob and took another deep breath before pushing it down.

Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle. Not Voldemort. Not a monster. Just a five-year-old who had been abused in various ways and extents for years.

A boy, just a boy.

Hermione walked into the room. She had to blink a couple of times as her sight adjusted to the light filtering from the wide window.

There were six unmade beds lined against the wall, the seventh, the one closer to the window, had the sheets pulled up all the way and underneath them there was a small lump.

When Hermione closed the door behind her, the lump began to tremble slightly, breaking Hermione's heart to pieces. Did Tom think it was Mr. Wool again? What was that man doing to that child?

Hermione cleared her throat to make her identity known, immediately the lump under the covers stopped shaking and froze.

"Tom?" she asked in a low, calm voice, "Tom, it's Mrs. Hermione, the new helper, are you awake, Tom?"

The voice from under the covers was low and muffled by the layers of sheets.

"Go away..." Hermione felt both like crying, smiling and running away.

Dealing with Tom Riddle felt overwhelming. Even now, when he was hidden under the sheets, Hermione couldn't bring her heart to stop thumping in her chest.

On the one hand she was horrified by who that child would become, horrified by herself, acting all kind and sweet with Voldemort, THE Voldemort who had killed Harry's parents... On the other hand, Hermione just couldn't stand the thought of an abused little child, mistreated by everyone and always yelled at.

"Tom the others are gone, it's just the two of us. Would you like to come out of those blankets and shake my hand?" She asked, moving slightly closer to the bed under the window, but not too close, for both his and her own comfort.

"No." Fair enough. Hermione sighed. Wrong approach.

"Well, we can skip the handshake if you like, but I need you to get out of bed, Tom. We have to clean you up, get you something to eat and go to the market." Hermione opted for a firmer tone and it seemed to work.

At those words the sheets jerked forward and revealed the pale skinned boy Hermione had seen the previous night. He was sitting in bed with disheveled hair and a marvelous little pout on his face.

The most beautiful child Hermione had ever seen, no doubt about it. The sunlight confirmed what the previous night's thought had been. Hermione had almost hoped that with the light, she would be able to unravel at least a couple of flaws in that perfect porcelain mask. She'd thought she'd be able to peek at Voldemort's ashen face between the cracks, but nothing. Tom Riddle was the most beautiful child in history, perhaps so perfect that it was a little scary, but she was certainly not objective in thinking that.

He was wearing a yellowed and slightly too large shirt and kept staring at her in silence with red-rimmed blue eyes. Had he cried? Hermione's eyes roamed instinctively to his small and slender neck, looking for the traces of their first disastrous encounter. She almost sighed in relief when she found that the spell from the previous night, as rudimental as it was, had done its job of healing the bruises she had inflicted.

In the seemingly endless seconds that Tom stared at her in silence, Hermione noted the presence of healing bruises and small scars scattered here and there in the portions of bare skin on the boy's neck and arms.

Before she could formulate a way to inquire about those injuries on his body, Tom broke the silence that he himself had created.

"I'd rather stay here, Mrs. Hermione." Back to politeness, was he? Cunning little boy. They were both testing each other's boundaries.

Hermione smiled, but then firmly shook her head no.

"I'd rather you come with me, Tom, and hurry up too, it's quite late already." Tom's gaze became even more intense.

He didn't trust her.

Of course.

How could he have trusted a complete stranger, enough to want to spend time alone together? He hadn't been too lucky with the adults he had met, Hermione couldn't exactly blame him for trying to find a way out of her plans for the day.

Tom was probably wondering how to catalog this new adult specimen. How long could she press his luck? Would she be angry? Would she ignore him? Would she hit him? Or was she perhaps, an easily manipulated person, that he could wrap around his fingers with those magnificent blue eyes of his?

Hermione, for her part, was pretty convinced that if she wasn't careful enough, she would belong to the latter category. Obviously, Tom didn't have to know that. So she told herself that for now, she would keep a sweet but strict attitude, hoping to create a new healthier category in his list.

Meanwhile, for some reason, that night's dream chose that moment to come back to her and hunt the back of her mind. The faces of Ron, Harry and Draco Malfoy buzzed in her brain, as she held Tom's glare.

"Mrs. Hermione, I truly rather not."

"Well, tough luck, Tom, we're too busy today to hang around moping." She said lightly, Tom's eyes widened slightly but he didn't say anything, and kept staring while Hermione leaned closer and opened the window, before quickly moving away and busy herself into making the other children's bed.

"Martha takes the girls to the market." He informed her then, losing some of his cool and edging the tantrum zone. Hermione ignored him.

"How come I didn't see you at breakfast?"

"I do not feel well." He blurted out and Hermione ventured a glance over her shoulder. His brain was working fast on excuses, she smiled to herself.

"Mh ... what's wrong exactly? Do you have a fever?" Hermione asked as she slid a pillow into its pillowcase and pounded it vigorously. Tom hesitated, and she had to refrain from grinning as Tom sought the most convenient malaise for his situation.

"My tummy hurts." Ah, great choice, stomach ache was certainly not something Hermione could measure. She mentally congratulated him.

"If it's so bad that you don't want to get up, maybe we should inform Mrs. Cole and ask her to call a doctor. What do you say?" Hermione suggested with a nonchalant tone, attacking the next bed.

"Martha doesn't call the doctor for a tummy ache." He moped.

"Well, I'm Mrs. Hermione, you see? And I take every illness very seriously!" Hermione said without sparing him a second glance.

There was a long moment of silence in which Hermione wondered if perhaps using threats with such a small and traumatized child was a little excessive, but then to her relief, Tom's bed springs creaked and the sound was followed by that of bare feet on the floor.

When Hermione turned to look at him, Tom was awkwardly pulling on the shirt that she saw children wearing under the overalls.

"Ah, are you feeling a little better already?" she asked with a knowing smile, Tom gave her a dirty look while he slipped on the overall, putting those skinny legs of his in the pants one at a time with annoyed gestures.

The physical size of the child baffled Hermione. Tom was very small, smaller, and surely shorter, than a 5 year old would be.

Voldemort, the Voldemort Hermione had seen a few days earlier, was a tall 'man' with broad shoulders and an imposing frame.

If Hermione didn't want to take into account the adult version of Riddle, also according to Harry, the Tom Riddle of Hogwarts, was a handsome boy, elegant and about as tall as Ron. Ron was tall… almost a whole head taller than Harry himself.

The handsomeness, Hermione could easily see that, anyone would have! Tom, especially compared to the other children in the orphanage, looked like a finely hand-crafted doll. But Hermione just couldn't see how those angular, thin legs were going to evolve into the tall character she had heard about and met.

"What do you want me to do?" Hermione looked down at him as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a resentful look.

"We're going out, you should wear your shoes." She said pointing at his feet. He blinked rapidly and looked away, "Were are your shoes, Tom?" Tom did not answer but he glimpsed at the other children's bed and Hermione figured someone else must have taken them.

Fine, she'd think about the shoes later.

"You know what? Just wear a pair of socks and go wait for me downstairs. There's some leftover soup in the kitchen if you're hungry, I'll be right there."

Tom held her stare but didn't move.

"Mrs. Cole said she has a headache, she is probably already back in her room…" she informed him, his shoulders relaxed slightly and he looked at the door nervously. Her heart squeezed slightly, "The other children are gone too… and I haven't yet had the pleasure to meet Mr. Wool." The last bit came out in a lower trembling tone, despite her best effort to sound natural.

Hermione glimpsed back at the small boy. For a moment there, he looked surprised, his lips parted but no sound came, then he simply nodded and headed outside.

Mr. Wool… I'm going to tear you to pieces. Hermione thought angrily pulling out the wand from her sleeve as soon as Tom had disappeared behind the door.

It took her seconds to finish her housekeeping with magic but apparently it had taken even less for Tom to screw her over. Hermione had been distracted by his disconsolate appearance, by his big blue eyes, and like a fool she had created the perfect opportunity for him to escape. When she got downstairs moments later, in fact, there was no sign of Tom anywhere.

"Nice move, Hermione ..." she scolded herself, "Tom one, Hermione zero, I guess ..." Well at least Mrs. Cole wasn't around to laugh at her, she told herself.

Dragging her feet, Hermione picked up the cloth shopping bags from the pantry and walked disconsolately to Baker's corner where Charles, Eric and the girls sat in the sun. She took Amy and Eric with her to the market that day but her mind kept drifting to the odd dream and to Malfoy's words.

_"Do you think someone like me could ever trust you?"_ Someone like him.

Hermione had dreamed of the fight with Harry and Ron in third year, it had been the only time she had lost the trust of her friends, but regaining it had not been that hard. Earning Malfoy's trust ... that would have been a completely different feat.

She knew how to deal with Ron and Harry, because they were like her, they thought like her. How to gain the trust of someone who thinks completely differently? The thought pestered Hermione all day, and all day she wondered where Tom was.

The child seemed to have vanished into thin air and the day went by relatively calmly. Hermione even found some spare time to stare at the pendant around her neck.

It was only at bath time that the wheels of fate were set in motion.

Father Jones finally took his pestilent breath out of the orphanage shortly after seven.

Hermione, amid the laughter of the children, went to great lengths to open all the windows in the dining room as soon as the priest was gone, explaining that it would take hours to remove the stench from the room.

Even Billie and Dennis found the scene amusing and Hermione laughed at the boys imitation of Father Jones, at least until a glare from Mrs. Cole (suddenly emerged from her den) reminded Hermione that she shouldn't have allowed such insolence.

Mrs. Cole's appearance signaled that it was time to announce bath time, and Hermione did just so, as she had seen Martha do the night before.

The children started running up and down the stairs, grabbing their pajamas and leaving a trail of dirty clothes in the corridor, while Hermione filled the large bathtub and three wooden basins.

She tucked Eric into the smaller tub at her feet, Billie, Charles and Olivia in two medium-sized ones. Dennis and Amy quickly entered the largest tub and Hermione found it curious that no one seemed ashamed of their nakedness, before reasoning that they were probably all used to the routine, except her.

Hermione blushed violently when Richard and Donald also quietly took off their clothes and jumped into the large tub with the smaller children. With the other children she had no particular problems, but Richard and Donald were about 2 years younger than her, if not less, and Hermione had hardly ever seen Harry and Ron shirtless, two completely naked guys were a long way from her comfort zone, however innocent the interaction was.

Fortunately, no one seemed to notice her embarrassment and Hermione focused all of her attention on Eric, who occasionally tried to escape from his basin, spilling water on the floor in large waves, and the younger boys in the basins.

They had just started relaxing when Mrs. Cole's howling broke the happy chuckles in the bathroom at once.

"I said ... INSIDE!" the woman yelled from the corridor.

Hermione, dropped the bar of soap she was using on Billie's back, Eric's smile turned immediately upside down. Olivia and Amy exchanged a knowing glance.

"I do not want to!" a loud clap made Hermione gasp.

Tom.

Hermione's stomach tightened in a vise and she nearly slipped face down on the run to the bathroom door. The other children had fallen silent behind her, and were listening to what was going on.

"Inside! Now! Damn little demon!" When Hermione made it out of the steamy bathroom, the scene before her eyes was one of chaos.

Tom was dangling with one arm in Mrs. Cole's grip and was trying, and failing, to use his weight to stop the Governess from dragging him to the bathroom. He was filthy. Covered in what looked like soot from head to toe. Still, under all that dirt, Tom's face sported a glowing red cheek, where Mrs. Cole had hit him.

"God only knows where you've been! You smell like the devil! Get in with the others!"

"No!" Tom wriggled like an eel in Mrs. Cole's deadly grip.

The woman seemed possessed, she shook the child and struggled along the corridor, hitting him loudly when he kicked and bit everything he could reach in an attempt to escape.

"What is happening?!" Hermione asked in alarm, shaking out of her amazement and rushing towards the two. Tom's eyes stopped in hers, full of resentment and unshed tears.

"This devil, this monster! He smells like a sewer! God knows he's been up all day!" Mrs. Cole shook Tom again, and he hung dead weight to the floor causing her to stagger backwards and cuss, "I can't stand you anymore!" the woman growled.

Hermione ignored her blind anger at the woman's words, and reached out to Tom instead.

"Tom, come on, enough of the tantrums." she said but the boy stabbed her with his eyes and did not move.

"Ah, kindness is wasted with this one!" Mrs. Cole exploded, "But now that Mr. Wool comes ... now that he comes, you will see!" A flash of panic crossed Tom's gaze at the name of Mr. Wool and Mrs. Cole seemed to notice and particularly enjoy it.

"Oh, nonsense." Hermione blurted out, "Tom's just a little tired, isn't he? And he had a tummy ache in the morning. Now he's coming to take a bath with us and then we'll all eat together. Right Tom? Will you stop being a bad boy and come with me?"

Tom was at a crossroads, and he seemed to be aware of it. Mrs. Cole looked at him as if daring him to take Hermione's hand, and Hermione was afraid for a moment, that out of pride, Tom would choose to be tortured by Mr. Wool rather, but apparently, the idea was not too tempting.

As if by magic, Tom's entire posture changed and a moment later he was taking Hermione's hand, under the astonished gaze of Mrs. Cole.

Heart beating in her throat, Hermione shrugged nervously at the woman and then walked with Tom to the bathroom, holding his hand tighter than necessary out of sheer panic. It was small and warm and loose in her grip, but it was there. A little step in the right direction.

"Well, what do you know…" she heard Mrs. Cole say in the background, "She might tame the beast."

When the bathroom door finally closed behind their back, Hermione found herself before the next challenge when 8 pair of eyes landed on Tom, now stiffly standing beside her.

"Always the attention seeker, Tom." Richard grinned, "What is it? Do you have a crush on Mrs. Hermione?" Tom's hand immediately withdrew from Hermione's and his posture changed once again to a defensive one.

"Shut up, Richard." he muttered as he pressed himself against the door.

"Come on, Tom, take off your clothes, I'll fill a basin for you." Hermione said trying to break the stiff atmosphere that was created in the bathroom.

"I won't take a bath with them."

"Oh, I'm Tom, I'm too special to be with others!" teased Dennis.

"Yes, I'm so special that nobody can stand me ..." Billie grinned.

"Sod off!" snapped Tom.

"Enough." Hermione said hissing, "I want absolute silence or else. Tom, undress."

"No." his little body pressed impossibly tight against the door as he tried to put more distance between himself and Hermione.

"Tom, please." Tom's eyes were filled with hatred at the moment and Hermione couldn't understand what had caused the sudden change. He had taken her hand a little while ago, didn't he trust her yet?

"I'll show you how this is dealt with here, Mrs. Hermione." Hermione didn't even have time to react. Donald had practically materialized beside her out of nowhere, and, still naked, he proceeded to ungracefully grab Tom by the arm, and pull him to himself to then tear his clothes off as Tom wriggled like a snake.

"No! No, Donald! Let him go!" Hermione was horrified. Tom was howling in despair trying to keep his shirt on, but Donald, incited by the other children, had no mercy. Laughing, Donald stripped Tom completely, leaving him standing naked and angry in front of everyone.

"Here he is." the boy said going back to the tub amid general laughter.

Hermione's eyes widened, she took a sharp breath and pressed her hands to her lips. Tom looked at her resentfully, seething, covering himself as best he could with his hands.

Traitor, it was written in capital letters in those eyes.

"Who ... who did this to you?" Hermione asked, with a tight lump in her throat. Tom looked away and ignored the question but Dennis seemed to have been waiting for nothing but to get involved and, with a huge grin on that evil face of his, broke the silence.

" Wich one, right, Mrs. Hermione, luv? Some 'ave interestin' stories, don't they, Tom?"

"Shut up." Tom muttered, but no one was listening to him at the moment. Hermione was too busy staring at the scars on the child's body in a state of shock.

"This one!" said Billie, who had come out of his basin and was now standing between Hermione and Tom, dripping water onto the floor, "This long one," he said pointing to a long scar running from Tom's collarbone to his shoulder and back, "This one was by the butcher himself ! Almost cut his head off!"

"He did what?" Hermione's voice came out choked, "The butcher? What?"

" Oh it whistle and flutes 'im right! Blimey!" Dennis intervened from behind, " He learned not ter nick from the counter, right, didn't 'e?"

"SHUT UP!" Tom screamed but the children were laughing and they were all coming out of the water and grabbing towels to get closer.

"What about that one?" Amy yelled, pointing to a short but particularly thick scar under Tom's chest, amidst what looked like cigarette burns, "Mr. Wool gave that to you, right?" the little girl smiled wickedly, "And you also learned not to enter the girls room... he learns so fast, our Tom!"

"Stop it." Hermione's voice came out so faint that the children didn't even hear her. Hermione was feeling light-headed, her stomach was spinning wildly threatening to empty its meager contents on the bathroom floor, she couldn't take her eyes off Tom's scarred body.

He didn't look at her, he was silent, pressed against the door and steaming with rage.

_"What do you know about me?"_ Voldemort's voice rang in her head along with Eric's shrill cry, as he demanded to also be pulled out of his basin.

"Stop." Hermione repeated but her voice didn't surpass the chatter of the children.

"The one on the back, Tom! Show us Dennis's artwork!" Donald laughed at one point, leaning over Hermione the boy took Tom's arm to force him to turn around and that's when Hermione finally snapped.

"ENOUGH." Silence fell immediately.

Hermione found herself standing in the center of the small group, between Tom and the other children, "Dry off and get out. Everyone." her tone must have been imbued with enough fury that even Dennis followed Hermione's order.

One by one the children walked out of the bathroom scowling and pouting, until only Hermione, a weeping Eric and Tom were left.

"Tom?"

He looked at her but dared not speak, he measured Hermione's every move with his huge eyes.

"Tom, get in the bathtub." slowly, Tom complied and never giving his back to Hermione he passed her and scrambled into the big tub in silence.

"Eric wants out!" Eric shouted, waking Hermione from her slumber.

"Sure, honey. Come here, here you go."

Hermione was too angry to speak and Tom probably sensed it or was just as angry, because he didn't say anything the whole time Hermione wiped Eric dry and tucked him in his pajama.

Once finished with Eric, Hermione walked over to the tub and sat on the edge. It took her a few more moments to regain her ability to speak.

"Tom, I'm sorry I didn't react sooner, I was caught off guard. Can you forgive me?"

The look he gave her reminded her of the one from the night before, when she had strangled him and then asked if he was okay. Hermione felt like dying inside, she had to find a way to break that vicious circle, but first of all, she had to get rid of the anger that was blinding her right now.

"Tom," she continued without waiting for an answer and looking away from Tom to look at Eric, who was playing with a towel sitting near the door, "The things the other kids said ... are they true?"

"Yes." his voice was low, strangled by a knot of fury in his throat. This child was only 5 years old.

"That ... scar on your chest ... was it Mr. Wool?"

"What if? What are YOU going to do about it?" Hermione's eyes plunged into the stormy ocean in his. This was the proof he was asking of her, this was the price of his trust, Hermione thought.

Luckily for her, she was itchy to pay it right now.

"Very well." was all Hermione said. She took a large dry towel off the closest shelf and opened it inviting Tom out of the tub. With an expression halfway between curious and doubtful, he came out and let himself be wrapped in the towel. Unlike Eric, Tom did not give up completely, he remained stiff, alert, unable to enjoy the after-bath cuddles. Anger stirred even more savagely within Hermione. This had to end and had to end today.

Immediately.

"Do you guys know what a 'leap of faith' is?" Asked Hermione, handing Tom the bottom of his pajama. Tom shook his head no as he started getting dressed. Eric simply stared ad Hermione. Hermione handed Tom his shirt and started emptying the basins into the larger tub.

"It means you believe something, or attempt something, whose existence or outcome cannot be proved or known." Hermione pulled the tub chain letting the water run down the drain, when she turned to look for the children's eyes, Tom's was extremely focused, he was hanging on to her words now, Eric was a little less interested in Hermione and more in a spider that was running vertically swinging under the sink.

"It's a bit like religion, Tom, like believing in God even if there is no physical proof of his existence. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hermione." Hermione smiled.

"Now, Tom," Hermione said, reaching down to pick Eric off the floor, and then extending an open hand to Tom for him to take, "You don't know me well Tom, but I need you to take a little leap of faith for me. I promise you it will be worth it. Can you do it? "

Tom's eyes danced from Hermione's hand to Eric, who lay quietly on her chest sucking his thumb with his free hand in her curls.

Something in what he saw in the girl standing before him with her hand outstretched and the savage look of a warrior ready to serve divine justice, pleased him, and, after a moment's hesitation, Tom Riddle nodded.

"Well," Hermione said as he reached out and took her hand, "Tom, I swear to you that if you do exactly what I tell you without asking why, Mr. Wool will never touch you again, no one ever will, not under my watch. But from tonight, Tom , there will be no more room for tantrums, promise me? "

"I promise."

"No tantrums," Eric chirped, pulling his thumb out of his mouth with a little 'pop'.

"Here we go."

Hermione opened the door and headed for the dining room, where, considering the religious silence that had enveloped the house, she imagined everyone else was already waiting for supper, infamous Mr. Wool included.

Tom's hand in hers, was now holding her tight and Hermione could feel Tom's magic seeping through his skin onto hers. She wondered if he could feel it too.

It was overwhelming, impressive and empowering. Tom Riddle was trusting her with his life within one day since their meeting. Hermione could take down the whole house with the raging emotions running through her system right now, but she managed to keep calm somehow.

When she stepped into the dining room the whole room turned in their direction.

The children were sitting stiffly at the table, Mrs. Cole was visibly fighting her hungover and her face was green with nausea. The cook was sitting at the table too, but Hermione's eyes were all for the man sitting next to him.

Mr. Wool. She decided, as his small watery eyes travelled from her legs up to her chest. Hermione's hand tightened around Tom's.

"So… this must be the beast tamer…" thin chapped lips curled around the words, revealing crooked yellow teeth. The man's face was a web of wrinkles, his skin was as dry as leather, and his hair was long and matted with some greasy substance. It was the ugliest thing Hermione had seen since Voldemort ... maybe even Filch was a handsome man by comparison.

Anger took the shape of bile in Hermione's stomach. This insignificant being, this nothingness was the monster who had collaborated in the creation of an even worse monster? He radiated evil alright, but nothing Hermione couldn't handle. The scars on Tom's chest and back were hunting her every logical thought and she could now feel her own magic humming in her ears like a war drum.

"My name is Hermione Granger." Hermione spat stiffly through clenched teeth, she could feel Tom's eyes burning a hole in her face, "You must be Mr. Wool?" The man smiled in confirmation. Hermione took a deep breath through her nose. Calm down. Breathe.

"Would you believe it, Frank? This little bird forced my hand to get some money up front ... women sure are getting bold, these days, uh? Lucky for her, this one is a feast for the eyes ..." Mr. Wool took his time leering at Hermione with his swine-like eyes while Frank cackled at his uncle's assertion.

Mr. Wool smiled, pleased with both his nephew's reaction and Hermione's obvious outrage. The disgusted look on Olivia's face perfectly mirrored the one on Hermione's, and despite the size of it, it felt good to have an ally in the little girl.

"Are you going to sit down, little bird? We've waited long enough for you and that little savage." Said Mr. Wool jutting his chin in Tom's direction.

Tom made it to walk over to the table but Hermione pulled him back.

"I need to talk to you, Mr. Wool." Hermione finally said, ignoring Mrs. Cole's murderous gaze, and the shock on the faces of the children, who were now nudging each other, excited by the unfolding situation, "In private." Hermione added when the man only moved a questioning eyebrow.

"Oh I see." said Mr. Wool, as a sinister smile spread across his evil face, "This little hen is so cheeky. Is there something else you need... up front?" Mr. Wool cackled and rose from his seat. He then pointed theatrically to the kitchen door whit his hand. Hermione's eyes lingered on the man's black-edged and way too long nails, but she didn't miss the moment when Mr. Wool winked at Frank.

Hermione grimaced in disgust, she held her head high and her shoulders straight, trying to convey that there was nothing sexual in her request.

Mrs. Cole and the children were all pale and paralyzed in their seats, all except for Dennis who seemed quite amused instead.

"It's good to exercise before meals, Uncle." said Frank, rudely raising and lowering his eyebrows and formulating the first complete sentence in days. Hermione told herself she much preferred him when he expressed himself in grunts and moans.

She felt her fury pour into her cheeks like fiery lava, but she pursed her lips and motioned for Mrs. Cole to take Eric from her arms.

"You're playing with fire, little girl. You better remember where you belong before HE reminds you." Mrs. Cole whispered to her, deliberately taking too long to retrieve the baby.

"I know what I'm doing." Hermione answered then turned to the dark-haired boy, who still held her hand and looked at her with wide blue eyes, completely enraptured and at the same time hopelessly frightened, "You're coming with me, Tom, yes? It's our leap of faith, yes?"

Tom said nothing but followed Hermione through the kitchen door.

Mr. Wool came in behind them and the next room fell dead silence when the door slammed shut behind his back.

"Not that I care, but does the demon really have to watch? You're a stinking little one, let me tell you ..." Mr. Wool grinned as he leaned against the door and tucked both of his thumbs under his belt in a cocky pose. Hermione ignored him completely, rather she turned away, released Tom's hand and knelt beside him. He trembled. Tom Riddle was shaking violently.

The hand, which until now had been free, was clenched in such a tight fist that he had pierced the skin of his palm drawing blood.

Slowly Hermione put her hands on his shoulders and finally his eyes focused on her, escaping the panic he had fallen into.

"Tom, my darling, I need you to do exactly as I tell you." The child nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Do you want him to join? Ohoh, even better. Just so you know, he doesn't need too many instructions either… isn't it, Tommy?" Mr. Wool licked his bottom lip feverishly, Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine. If until then she had had doubts, they had all just evaporated.

This thing was about to go down.

"Tom, plug your ears with your little hands and hum until I tell you to stop." Tom slowly obeyed. Hermione gave him an encouraging smile then rose from her position to face Mr. Wool.

The man opened his mouth to say something, his small wet eyes filled with an excitement that disgusted Hermione to no end. Before he could say a single word, it was Hermione who spoke.

"Imperio." The man's eyes immediately became blank and distant, his posture lost all its smugness.

It was easy. It was that easy.

Hermione would have guessed it would take more energy to perform such a curse, but her anger was such that she barely had to point the wand, which she kept hidden in her sleeve and out of sight, except for the tip.

Hermione glanced quickly at Tom, who seemed interested in the scene but missed the reality of what was happening, then she walked over to Mr. Wool until she could smell the scent of his cheap hair product mixed with his sweat. Even lowering her wand, she could feel the connection with the man's mind.

"Mr. Wool, I want you to nod now." she whispered, to test the curse. Mr. Wool immediately carried out the order, nodding vigorously. Hermione felt a wicked satisfaction at the sight of that slimy man, now completely bent to her will.

Tom was still humming in the background. Such a good boy.

"Mr. Wool, I will tell Tom to take his hands off his ears, when I do, you will apologize to me for your behavior, you will swear never to touch any of the children again. From today Mr. Wool, you will lead a simple and honest life and you will mostly be confined to your room when your presence is not required. You will let me run the orphanage as I please and you will never, ever touch any of the children again. " The man continued to look at her with a distant stare but Hermione could feel her order take hold of his mind. It was a strange feeling, unpleasant, but necessary, she told herself.

Hermione then retraced her steps and knelt beside Tom again. She took one last look at Mr. Wool, then took Tom's little hands and pushed them out of his ears.

"Tom, you remember your part of the deal, right?"

"No tantrums." he said in a small voice, and then ventured a suspicious glance in the direction of the silent governor. Hermione nodded.

"Very well." she turned to Mr. Wool, "Do you have something to tell us, Mr. Wool?"

"I am sorry if I have offended you, Mrs. Hermione," the man recited mechanically, "My behavior was reprehensible. I will never disrespect you again." Tom's jaw dropped and his eyes became huge. Hermione couldn't hold back a victorious grin.

"Do you have something to say to Tom?"

"Tom, forgive me if you ever can. I swear I'll never dare hurt you again." With those words Mr. Wool dropped his head forward in an awkward bow, more like a puppet than a human being. Tom turned to Hermione, his jaw still wide open, too overwhelmed to say anything.

"How ... I ... what?"

"Tom, shut your mouth or flies will get in." Hermione said pushing his chin up with her finger. Tom looked at her as one would look at a deity, their eyes sank into each other's, and there was a moment when Hermione saw hope at the bottom of the black ink wells that were Tom Riddle's pupils. Perhaps this was really the path that L.M. wanted Hermione to take.

"Mr. Wool, why don't you lead us back to the dining room, we're done here." Hermione suggested, breaking through the dense silence of the kitchen, "You can eat in your room," she then added with a smirk at the perennial dismay on Tom's face, "I don't think Tom and I are in the mood to tolerate your presence. . "

"Sure Madam."

"How did you do that?" Tom asked in a whisper as they made their way back into the dining room.

Hermione grinned at him holding her hand out for him to take, "You can try and figure it out tomorrow, when we'll go and deal with the butcher." At that, Tom Riddle, smiled.

It wasn't the brightest smile Hermione had ever seen, it wasn't even close to one of Harry's dashing smiles, nor Ron's quirky and cute ones, damn it wasn't even smug and annoyingly cute as one of Malfoy's smirk, but it filled Hermione's heart with something warm and soothing.

Dinner that evening was particularly quiet.

Nobody ever knew what had prompted Mr. Wool to retire to his rooms, nobody dared asking why Tom Riddle held Hermione's hand all through dinner. The only one to even attempt a question was Richard, who asked if Mr. Wool may have eaten something bad.

"He didn't say" was Hermione's clipped reply, "He did say he wanted Tom's shoes, though, polished and lined next to his bed, or else… something like that." She added with a glance in the direction of Charles, Dennis and Billie.

Tom smiled for the rest of the dinner, heedless of the glare he received from the other children. When Hermione went to tuck the little ones in, Tom's shoes were beside his bed, and he was already asleep, with the corners of his lips curled up. Hermione had surely made some small progress that night… if you could call it that… however dark thoughts filled her mind as she closed her door behind her and was alone again.

She had fought a whole war, she had seen her friends die and be tortured, she had suffered from hunger, thirst, fatigue, she had been tortured psychologically and physically, but despite everything, she had never even considering the use of an Unforgivable in the past. And now? Hermione had been next to Tom Riddle for less than 48 hours and she hadn't even flinched before taking complete control over another human being.

What had happened to her? Was that the answer? To gain the trust of someone completely different from herself, did she have to become a little more like that someone?

Only much later would Hermione realize the mistake she had made that night in teaching Tom Riddle the pleasure of solving problems with dark magic, and only much later would she wonder if there was perhaps yet another way she should have dealt with that particular situation.

**Let me know what you think!**

**:)**


	3. Errare Humanum Est

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a couple more chapters I'll have to take a little break from frequent updates since I'm currently writing chapter 6.  
> Should I slow down updates and post about one chapter a week, or post everything and then update the story about every two weeks? Let me know what you think!  
> Thanks for the feedback so far, love to read your comments and to get your take on the story!  
> Hope you'll enjoy the next chapter!  
> Love  
> M.

**Chapther 3: Errare humanum est _..._**

"Our king… our… Q…u…een…"

"Yes?" Hermione pressed on.

"Is he ever gettin' tae th' end ay 'at first line? Ah want tae see th' picture!" Whined Olivia, trying to peek at the newspaper over Eric's shoulder.

"Shuddup! I'm almost there!" hissed Eric glaring at the older girl.

"Come on... you two." Hermione yawned in between her warning, then patted Eric on the shoulder for him to resume his reading, she glared at Olivia when the girl rolled her eyes at the ceiling snorting loudly.

"Our Crown." Eric concluded, "Our King, Our Queen, Our Crown."

"Very good, Eric. Now let Olivia look at the photo! I swear her eyes will pop right out 'f she keeps rolling them so much..." Eric giggled then he reluctantly obeyed, moving the newspaper so that Olivia could finally admire the photo of the Royals and the beautiful crown.

"What else does it say?" Snapped Amy, from her spot on the carpet.

"Throughout the world, men and women of every race and creed, members of the greatest Empire in history, rejoice to-day, in the coronation of George VI, King-Emperor, and his gracious consort, Queen Elizabeth, Long may they reign ..." Hermione read out loud, pointing to the small paragraph at the bottom of the page, under the cover photo of the Daily Mirror.

"Ah still don't gie wa Edward chose tae abdicate ..." Olivia murmured looking to Hermione for an answer.

"That Simpson lady must have a golden cunt or something..." said Billy from the chair in the corner he was perched on.

"Language ..." Hermione warned, immediately piercing the boy with a glare. Billy made an annoyed grimace and went back to reading an issue of Ace Comics.

"Well, King Edward was very much in love, Olivia ... love makes people do crazy things sometimes." Hermione said, diluting Billy's version of the facts and smiling at the dreamy eyes on Amy's face.

"Still ... he coold've bin th 'Kin'! Ah woods hae gladly given up on th girl for th money..." Olivia decided solemnly.

"What a surprise... You would give up your right hand for a pound..." Charles commented sarcastically, extracting a laugh from Billy, who was obviously still listening from behind his comic book. Both boys fell silent as they met Hermione's murderous gaze.

"Well, money isn't everything now, is it?" Said Hermione leaning forward to snatch the newspaper back, "There are more important things in life!"

"It might not be everything… but it sure as hell is something…" Commented Charles bitterly, staring at the hole in his sock he was failing to mend. Hermione just shrugged and folded the paper. The coronation of King George VI had been a great event and the children had eagerly followed the vicissitudes of Edward III's abdication, just like the rest of the country.

They had been thrilled when Hermione, on the way back from church, along with the usual bowl of double cream, had bought them a copy of the Daily Mirror that covered the subject in depth, so that they could all read it together that night after dinner.

Father Jones had stopped coming to the orphanage since Hermione had taken over the place. The man didn't seem to Hermione particularly well versed in the subjects she wanted the children to study, plus he gave everyone the chills with both his slimy appearance and his pestilent breath.

So now Hermione would take the children to church every night for the last mass before dinner, not that she cared particularly about their spiritual life, but that at least had put an end to Mrs. Cole's rants about what awaited them in hell if they hadn't had one.

Double cream was the little gimmick Hermione had found to make both the children and Mrs. Cole happy. After mass, on the way back to the orphanage, each of the children could have their own bowl of double cream, to eat quickly and with the unofficial promise not to mention it to Mrs. Cole.

"Mrs. Hermione, can we at least read the first part of the main article?"

Amy asked, sensing that Hermione was about to end the little evening meeting. "Oh boy, Amy, I promised we would read it but it's really late..." Hermione said, stroking Eric's little head as he rubbed his sleep-swollen eyes muttering he wasn't tired at all in between yawns.

"I think it's time for us all to go to bed."

But as she started to get up, the chorus of dissent exploded filling the room whit groans and whines. Eric, who was the closest, clung to Hermione like a koala trying to prevent her from moving any further.

"Come on, we're leaving tomorrow, we must rest for the trip!" Insisted Hermione, standing up despite Eric still clinging to her torso trying to weight her back down on the bed. Damn he had gotten heavy. The sudden realization that soon she would no longer be able to pick him up stung her somewhere in the chest.

"Do we even have to go?" Billy asked as he unfolded from the chair and stretched his long limbs.

"It's nat e'en fun anymair ... plus Richard an' Donald willnae be thaur!" Olivia added poking out her bottom lip into a little pout.

Donald and Richard had left the Orphanage early that year. The two boys had grown too old to continue sharing a room with the younger children. Hermione had hoped that the two would stay a little bit longer, or at least until summer, but the boys had only stayed a couple of months longer than the orphanage officially allowed; they had rented a room not too far away from Bakers and had flown out of the nest once and for all.

Olivia had been the one who had suffered the most from it.

Amy, with whom she had had a special connection in her early years, had become more distant once she had hit puberty and found her own crew in a group of girls her age at church, a group that had no room for tom-boyish girls like Olivia, who was still far from being concerned about boys and looks.

Eric was obviously too young for Olivia to play with; Billy, Dennis and Charles were not that interested in playing with a girl and would mostly sneak out whenever they could, smoking cigarettes and looking at girls. Tom… well, he was Tom.

Olivia had developed a special relationship with the older boys, especially with Donald, whom she shadowed to the point of even looking a bit like him. The boys had treated her a bit like their protégé, taking her with them to work whenever Hermione would allow, and sneaking her out with them to hit the pub whenever their finances allowed them.

When the two had left, it had taken Hermione two full days to get Olivia out of bed and three to get her to stop crying for more than two minutes straight.

"Oh, nonsense! We'll have a lot of fun at the beach..." Said Hermione with a reassuring smile.

Both Charles, Amy and Billy snorted at the blatant lie.

Truth was, no one hated those summer outings more than Hermione, but they all came very close.

Hermione would have loved to cancel those awful trips altogether but, in order to create a healthy and less conflictual environment, she had learned, as with the church matter, to compromise with Mrs. Cole on such issues.

Mrs. Cole hadn't been left with much power over the management of the orphanage since Hermione had taken over, however the woman could not be completely cut off either. Hermione had already changed the course of events a lot by getting rid of the bulky presence of Mr. Wool, or so she believed. Cutting off Mrs. Cole could have had unpredictable consequences, besides, Hermione could definitely use some help with the children and the house to take care of.

So while Hermione focused on the more serious matters, such as splitting the budget, educating and feeding the children, Mrs. Cole would take care of the house and Mr. Wool, but among her duties she had explicitly asked to be allowed to keep on arranging the annual summer trip.

Hermione had sought the opportunity to get Mrs. Cole to give up the bottle. They had talked a lot about it and decided that the woman could keep her summer trips in exchange for her sobriety. Perhaps part of Hermione did not believe that the woman would ever be able to stop drinking, but surprisingly enough, Mr. Cole hadn't touched a bottle of booze in four years and a half, except for the occasional glass of sherry, and Hermione had never regretted anything more in her life… well… as of yet.

For once, a sober Mrs. Cole wasn't as pleasant as Hermione had hoped, just more pushy, bigoted and judgmental about whatever others did, thought or said, and much more vocal about it.

Secondly, Mrs. Cole's idea of a perfect summer trip consisted in forcing everyone on a three and a half hour bus ride to Dorset, where she had grown up, to spend two days and one night in a remote coastal spot near a rocky beach that Voldemort himself wouldn't have wished on Harry Potter, let alone Hermione on a bunch of emotionally scarred children who couldn't go without at least scraping a knee on their best days.

Incidentally, Voldemort himself, or rather Tom Riddle, was among the staunchest opponents of those trips after Hermione.

Every year Hermione had to spend at least two days pleading with Tom to behave and cooperate. After that, they all had to pack their bags, and since no one was particularly enthusiastic about these trips, packing involved a great deal of persuasion, constant arguments, seizures of useless objects that were slipped into bags secretly and a general hubbub that left Hermione strained of every bit of energy before the trip would even begin.

The actual journey, consisted mostly in handing out paper bags to contain the damages of motion sickness, which usually knocked out 90% of the children before reaching destination.

That was always followed by two days of pure horror during which Hermione, Richard and Donald would stand like mongooses on the highest rocks, ready to spring to the aid of this or that child.

The usual holiday pack included at least one of the children getting badly injured on the rocks, at least two major fights (usually between Tom and Dennis), and everyone going home swearing this would be the last time.

And it would have been the last time each time, had it not been that all their sufferings at least helped making Mrs. Cole meek and tolerable for the next six to eight months, which wasn't bad at all.

"Come on… it's only going to be a couple of days, we can have fun, can't we? And since Donald and Richard are not coming, we might have some spare pound to spend in sweets!" Hermione said, looking at Billy for support.

This year he was the one who was supposed to step up and help her in Richard and Donald's place, as he was now officially the older boy, or as Mrs. Cole called him 'the man of the house'.

Billy had changed a lot over the years and some of the sharpest angles of his character had slightly softened but Hermione wasn't too sure she could count on him as much as she wished.

Sure, it had become much rarer for Billy to engage in futile fights with Hermione or the other children, and over time, probably thanks to the healthier environment Hermione had created, he had become less violent and much more pleasant, but he was still a very introverted teenager who didn't let anyone get too close.

As far as Hermione's influence on him was visible, it was less evident than in the other children, who had developed very modern mindsets for that time. Billy had come as close as his own mentality allowed him, but he was much more of a 30s child than the others, and this perhaps penalized him in some respects, especially emotionally.

He respected Hermione in a way but he never really took a stand on her one way or the other. Sometimes he would joke with her, he would teach her some new insult that she would forget seconds later, other times he would ignore her completely, just so she wouldn't get too comfortable around him. She was a woman and according to Billy, her place was well defined by the etiquette of that time and clearly below him.

Hermione, for her part, had no claim of pleasing everyone unconditionally, she wasn't there for that reason and she wasn't going to waste too much time thinking about it. Most of the time, Billy was fairly neutral towards her, just like Amy, and, most of the time, that was fine with Hermione, it only felt a little precarious now that, out of necessity, Billy had to become a little bit more reliable, which didn't seem to interest him much.

Billy gave her a non-committal grin, as if he had read her thoughts, and said nothing to confirm her claim.

"Can I sleep here?" Eric asked, taking advantage of the tense silence to strike.

"Me too! Me too!" Olivia immediately joined in, clinging to Hermione's arm as she tried to unhook Eric from her chest.

"Oh no, you know the rules!" Said Hermione, "Eric, honey, you're heavy!" Eric scowled but let go.

"But how come cannae WE eva' kip wi' you?!" Olivia's grip tightened around Hermione's arm.

"Because…" said Hermione, dragging the world while she slowly pulled Olivia's fingers from her arm, "You all have your own bed!"

"But!" cried Eric, trying to go past Hermione and back on her bed, "But yours is much bigger!"

"Och aye, 'at! An' ye do lit HIM sleep wi' you! It's nae fair!"

Hermione sighed.

No, it wasn't fair and she knew it but it wasn't like she had ever exactly invited Tom to sleep in her room. She had simply learned that if she didn't make too much of a fuss about it, she could get a few hours of sleep. Sending Tom back to his room had proven over the years, a foolproof way to spend a sleepless night.

As soon as she would turn the key in the lock Tom would somehow get a nosebleed, get a fever, get colitis, break one or more fingers or toes, get some terrible virus that would keep him doubled up gagging for hours and hours. Hermione couldn't even accuse him of throwing tantrums because each one of those ailments always proved genuine and not simply acted out. Was it emotional blackmail? No doubt. Was it entirely his fault? It was hard to tell.

Most of the children had learned how it worked by now, not that they were interested in sleeping with her, except for Eric and Olivia occasionally.

"Hey, come on you two, stop with the whining and let's go." Scolded Amy opening the door and ignoring the glares burning her face from where Eric and Oliva stood, "Can I keep the newspaper, Mrs. Hermione?"

"Of course, here, but do try to get some sleep, we'll need to be fully rested tomorrow, Amy." Amy nodded and then motioned for Olivia to get going.

Olivia took one last hopeful look at Hermione, who shook her head no, before muttering goodnight and following Amy out, dragging her feet.

"Pleaseee!" Eric wouldn't be as easy to dissuade, and if Hermione had to be fair, it really felt like a capital sin to have to say no to that little bundle of very blond hair and very blue eyes.

Hermione sighed and looked at Billy for help. Billy snorted lightly and tucked his comic into a pocket of his pants, making a great show of how much it was costing him to help her. Boys…

"Come on, Eric, you know what happens if you fall asleep in Mrs. Hermione's room, don't you?" He said, suddenly lifting Eric in his arms.

"No! It's not fair! I want to sleep with her too! I don't care about him!" Eric wriggled like an eel, and Hermione opened her mouth to intervene but Billy turned his back on her so that Eric could focus on him rather than her.

"Oh you don't want to anger the Demon, do you?! He'd skin you alive if he knew you tried to steal his missus!"

"Don't put strange ideas in his head!" Hermione snapped, finally understanding where the conversation was going, "There's no Demon in this house, and stop making up stories about…"

"Whatever." Billy turned to look at her with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, "The Demon is here, together with those who do not want to see it. Love, Mrs. Hermione, makes people do crazy things sometimes, right?"

Hermione's glare burned through him and Billy sighed, slowly lowering Eric back down on the ground.

"Real men sleep in their beds, Eric, are yer a sissy or a man?" He asked then, lifting Eric's chin to meet his gaze.

"Oh, why is it either the 'Demon' or what does a real man do? Can't he sleep in his bed just because that's how it works?" Hermione murmured, but none of the three boys turned to acknowledge her words and she sneered.

"I'm a man!" Eric said squaring his shoulders to emphasize the concept.

"Then let's go, yer wee man. Say good night!" Billy smiled, nudging Eric and pushing him in the direction of Hermione, who looked at them resigned but smiling at the evidence that Billy knew how to help when he wanted to. That was reassuring.

"Come here, my love." she said kneeling and holding out her arms to Eric, who immediately ran to her, "And now to bed! We have a long journey ahead." Hermione said cheerfully, thanking Billy for the help with a smile that he ignored blatantly.

Eric kissed her good night, and let himself be led out by Billy.

"Mrs. Hermione?" Charles asked before crossing the threshold last, "About Dennis…? Is he still serving time?" Serving time… that's what they called detention… Hermione sighed before answering.

"If he's done washing the dishes, he can go to bed, but I'm still expecting an apology in the morning... oh, who am I kidding…" she scoffed, "Just tell Frank he can let him go to bed."

Charles nodded with a sad smile and then disappeared closing the door behind him and leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts.

Dennis had become Hermione's real gripe.

When she had arrived at the orphanage five years ago, she had thought that her biggest problem would be Tom Riddle, but only because she had never met Dennis Bishop before.

Dennis was out of Hermione's control and out of God's grace, to be fair.

He too, like Billy, had just turned sixteen, but by then he had already been in prison twice, for theft and assault. Twice Hermione had had to drain the orphanage funds to pay his bail, and neither time had he thanked her, nor the others, for their sacrifice.

He was rude, violent, and abusive to anyone who couldn't physically overcome him and he hated Hermione passionately, for reasons that completely escaped her.

Hermione didn't take it too personally, after all Dennis had done a great job of antagonizing more or less everyone in the house, even Billy, who was once closest to him.

In fact, if that had been all, Hermione might have learned to live with the thought that Dennis would never be more than a petty criminal, her mission was definitely not to save Dennis Bishop from his poor choices. The real problem was another one.

What scared Hermione the most, worried her the most, was Dennis' constant bickering with Tom.

Tom and Dennis were like cats and dogs.

Neither of them liked the other children particularly, but the hatred that flowed between the two of them, it was like a raging river and there had never been any way to stem it.

While the other children had slowly learned not to bother Tom, if only so as not to draw the ire of Hermione upon themselves (although they kept referring to him as 'the Demon', which Hermione found ridiculous given he barely interacted with them anyway), Dennis, who seemed to derive sadistic pleasure from upsetting her and hurting Tom, had always done the opposite.

Dennis had used Tom as his own personal punching bag for years, unknowingly building an enemy as lethal as himself, if not more.

Their fights and beatings had never been too bloody nor worth worrying about, at least as long as Tom had been frail and unable to defend himself.

In the last year, however, Tom had had his first real growth spurt and this had put an end to Dennis' undisputed advantage and Hermione's relative peace of mind.

In fact, the situation had quickly escalated when Tom had found out that whenever Dennis punched his face he could simply punch back and inflict almost equal damages. Their fights had gotten more violent and harder to break over time.

That evening at dinner, had been yet another proof that the situation was getting out of Hermione's control.

It had taken too little for Dennis to get Tom to explode and for the first time, Tom hadn't even tried to verbally respond to the taunts. He had thrown himself into the physical confrontation, quite literally really. One moment Tom was sitting at his usual spot next to Hermione and the next he had catapulted himself over the dining table and into Dennis, without a second thought.

By the time Hermione had managed to separate them in the general chaos, she had broken three nails, Tom sported a beautiful black eye and Dennis had lost a tooth.

Hermione shivered at the very idea that soon Tom might start having episodes of involuntary magic and that things could go terribly wrong for Dennis, way worse than losing a tooth or two.

She was just sighing at the thought, when the door to the room creaked open and she stiffened.

Hermione met the familiar haunted gaze in the mirror and held it sternly.

"I'm sorry...?" He said fidgeting under the threshold.

"You'd better be. And I'm disappointed." Hermione said returning to her evening beauty routine as Tom closed the door and went to sit on her bed.

"He started it..."

"Tom Riddle, I don't care who started it! I asked you to behave, for one night! You promised!"

"But he called you a whor..."

"I know what he called me, Tom, and I know very well how to stand up for myself. Your behavior was unacceptable."

Tom dropped his eyes to the ground, and his jaw twitched angrily. Then he looked up again, bit the inside of his lower lip, like every time he was inhibiting himself from really saying what he thought, and held Hermione's gaze.

"I pulled all the weeds from the flower beds, I scrubbed the bathroom clean, my eye hurts like a bitch, I apologized, what else do you want me to do?" he asked in the tone of an exasperated husband. Hermione struggled to keep a straight face at that but hopefully he didn't notice.

Why couldn't she ever stay mad at that boy?!

"First of all, cut the swearwords, secondly I want you to behave in Dorset, Tom. I don't want to hear you fighting with Dennis, I don't want to have to stitch up either of you. I want you to help me keep an on Eric and avoid driving me crazy with constant bickering." Hermione made the list crossly as she dabbed some toner on her face.

"Why, If I had known you had such a long list I would have taken notes." Tom spat sarcastically.

"Tom!" Hermione turned to look at him "I'm not joking!".

"I know, I am! I'll be good!" he scoffed.

"Promise?" Hermione asked hopefully, but Tom looked away, "You're right, I shouldn't have to ask YOU to promise anything, Tom." she said sternly, "I have an old promise between us and it should be enough. Am I right?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask Billy, as he is now 'the man of the house'" Tom snapped, blushing slightly in anger and using his fingers to 'quote' the words, which was something Hermione usually did, and it was just ridiculous to see Tom do.

"I think you want to drop the attitude, Tom." Hermione suggested, "Before it occurs to me that the attic windows haven't been washed in months."

Tom exhaled through his nose and dropped back on his elbows, relaxing his shoulders, like every times he edged too close to the tantrum zone.

"It's… Dennis who ... I don't know ... I can't stand him and that stupid face of his, and Billy does nothing to shut him up, why should he be the one in charge?"

"First of all, Billy is not in charge of anything, I am. He's just the older boy, it does not mean that everyone else is exempt from helping." Said Hermione, "Secondly Billy probably likes it better not to have his nose broken every other day!" she finished rolling her eyes and sliding a small lotion jar back into the dressing table drawer, where her wand was.

"Well, I don't care about my nose. Nobody can call you that, even if I have to clean the windows of the whole house afterwards." Tom said simply, trying to ignore Hermione's glare.

"Oh, very chivalrous of you, but I'm asking you to cut the hostilities, Tom. Stop before it's too late to fix it."

"What's all that stuff you put on your face lately?" He asked suddenly changing the subject and jutting his chin at the drawer she had just closed. Hermione gave him one last glare before letting go of the lecture.

"Beauty creams and lotions... should fight wrinkles according to Mrs. Cole." she replied finishing dabbing the cream under her neck.

"You have no wrinkles."

Hermione took one last look in the mirror behind her. In all honesty, she didn't see herself much different than five years ago, aside from the way she dressed and wore her hair, she hadn't noticed any major changes. She raised her eyebrows and then shrugged at her own reflection, which returned the grimace with a tired face from the mirror.

"Well, I guess it works then." She shrugged.

Tom bit the inside of his lower lip before looking away.

"Did you read the paper without me?"

"No..." Hermione said leaving the dressing table and going to sit beside him on the bed, "We were all too tired." she added.

They sat like that for a while, in silence, Hermione too tired and angry to address Dennis' issue anymore, Tom too proud to do the same.

He was growing so fast, Hermione thought glimpsing at his serious face. The porcelain child was turning into a little man.

He would have turned ten in December, but it seemed to her only yesterday that he was the angry soot-soiled five-year-old boy yelling in the hall of the big house.

He was taller now, healthier and soon he would have started losing his delicate and rounded childish features, just like it had happened with Billy and Dennis before, with the obvious difference that Billy and Dennis lacked the sickly perfection of Tom's features.

Not that the two older guys were ugly (Dennis according to Hermione, suffered from what she called 'The Malfoy syndrome', being as handsome as utterly insufferable as he was), it was more that no one could really compare with that kind of beauty. Even Hermione compared to Tom, felt like a potato on which someone had carelessly carved a nose and a mouth.

Tom seemed to have been assembled with the sole intent of holding hostage the attention of anyone who laid eyes on him. Luckily he still didn't seem fully aware of that power of his, or at least he wasn't exploiting it as much as he could have.

Every detail of him was shamefully flawless and beautifully designed, from his dark hair, framing his face in neat waves, to his delicate, pale features, sprinkled with just the right number of freckles. From his lips, perpetually curled in a spontaneous pout, to his long fingers, which would have been the envy of any aspiring pianist.

But the real masterpiece was Tom's eyes. Big and intense eyes, grey like the stormy sky and stained with specks of the deepest blue, framed by long black lashes, which Hermione envied very much.

For five years Hermione had searched those eyes for the shadow of the monster, for a glimpse of the dark soul she knew should have been there, but time had gone by and she had yet to find that red glimmer of warning in there.

Sometimes she feared it was her to have forgotten what the monster looked like, she feared she might have missed it even if faced with it by now. Those times she would stare at him like a mad woman, trying to peel the mask from his face with the power of her mind.

But as much as Hermione looked, Tom seemed to have nothing in common with Voldemort. As much as she poked at the surface, the monster would not poke back.

Instead, it had become harder and harder to feel nothing but love and pride for that boy.

No one outside the orphanage would have thought badly of him.

In fact, Tom was always praised and admired by everyone. Older girls in church peered in his direction more and more often, kids playing soccer in the parish yard on Sundays always wanted him to play on their team, passersby stopped Hermione to compliment her on how she had raised him.

Tom had a very good reputation in the neighborhood to be honest, it was only when he returned to the orphanage that the problems would start.

Hermione just didn't understand why Tom was so frowned upon by the other orphans. At first she thought it a matter of jealousy, then she had wondered whether Mr. Wool's influence had somehow affected the balance among the children.

After five years of doubts, of searching for 'the demon' the children saw in Tom, without finding it, she had come to the conclusion that they just didn't like him, and that she couldn't do much to change that.

Besides, Tom didn't spend that much time with the other orphans, preferring the company of other children or that of Hermione, limiting any unwanted interactions to the bare minimum.

Since the night Hermione had sided with Tom against Mr. Wool, he had become Hermione's shadow. Wherever she went, Tom followed.

Tom had quickly proven himself to be a bright, witty, crafty child. Moody yes, possessive and sometimes a bit temperamental, but nothing too out of the ordinary, if one didn't consider Dennis' issue.

Entertaining Tom was a true pleasure for someone like Hermione.

He was ambitious and always wanted to be top of the class. In a couple of years he had caught up with the study plan Hermione had drawn up for the older children. By the time he had turned 8 it had been obvious that Tom needed a customized study program, which Hermione had been happy to provide.

Now that he was 9, he was asking questions that even Hermione had a hard time answering, questions that often required them to research and make multiple trips to the library (since Hermione was certainly not the type to dodge a hard question and never would be).

Oh, the library!

If anyone loved the library more than Hermione, that was Tom.

He was an avid reader, to Hermione's great pride, and he could spend days with his nose buried in the pages of whatever book Hermione would slip in his little hands.

From Virginia Woolf to Defoe, from Dickens to Blake, from Hardy to Poe… if it had pages and words and it came from Hermione, Tom loved it.

That year Hermione intended to get him a copy of The Hobbit, which had first been published in September. She had been saving up money for months already, and if everything went smoothly, that is, if Dennis didn't get arrested again, she'd be able to buy a copy in time for Tom's next birthday.

By now the money Hermione was able to save was mostly going into books for Tom, into clothes for the children, and into better quality food.

From time to time Hermione wondered if she should have focused more on getting back to her time and invest that money in finding a solution for that problem. She would wonder if things were different enough already, if her job there was done, if it was time to let Tom live his life.

But then, daily life would distract and absorb her completely and she would forget all about those doubts and barely even look at her wand, let alone the Time Turner.

"So… can we read something before we sleep?" Hermione shook out of her thoughts, Tom was gazing up at her while kicking off his shoes.

"I'm too tired to read anyt… Who said you could sleep here?" Asked Hermione frowning at him. Tom grinned as he stood up and struggled to get rid of his shirt.

"Oh well, I could just leave and come back later, but it would save us both a lot of troubles if we skipped that part. We do have a long journey ahead." He said winking at her slily with the good eye.

Hermione burst out laughing, that child's smug, really ...

"See? You're happier already now that I'm here! And now, scooch over!" kicking off his trousers, Tom jumped back onto the bed, hastening Hermione to crawl under the covers and reaching to turn off the light.

"Just because Dennis is sleeping in your room tonight, Tom, and don't tell Eric." She warned.

"Did he want to sleep here again?" Hermione heard a dark note in Tom's voice.

"Sleep, Tom." She said firmly.

She felt him hesitate beside her, but after a moment Tom seemed to understand that he was in no condition to protest tonight. Hermione was too tired, he had already had a fight with Dennis... there was no need to push his luck.

Silently he slipped under the sheet, then kicked it off.

"Blimey, it's hot." he sighed.

"Then go to your bed ..." Hermione whispered.

"Not a chance." he laughed, snuggling closer.

As usual, the bus driver had crossed himself when he had seen the small horde waiting at the bus stop.

As usual, the children had loaded their bags and boarded the bus with gloomy faces.

The first to explode had been Charles. He must have broken some kind of record, because he had started throwing up before the next stop.

For three and a half hours Hermione held the children's foreheads in turns as they emptied their stomachs into the paper bags she had diligently provided. By the stop before the last, Hermione was just as miserable as everyone else, and they all just exchanged exhausted glances from their seats, feeling sorry for each other.

By the time they arrived, staggering, pale, and moaning in pain, Mrs. Cole had grown annoyingly cheerful instead, like a phoenix reborn from its own ashes.

The woman disappeared into the lobby of the inn, chirping something about the healthy fresh air and dragging Mr. Wool along (or whatever was left of him after the stroke had hit him two years earlier, leaving him a drooling mess).

"That crazy old bat ..." Charles snarled, suggesting a list of interesting places Mrs. Cole could shove her fresh air into and drawing the first smiles on everyone's faces.

"Come on..." Hermione pleaded as she led the rickety line of children and luggage to the inn.

"I want to sleep in my own bed this year!" Yelled Dennis from somewhere at the back of the line.

"You can sleep with the fishes for all I care…" muttered Tom.

"Zip it." Warned Hermione.

Olivia giggled. Tom growled.

The inn was small and cheap, average clean by the standard of the time, which meant average filthy for Hermione's standards, and not far from the most deadly beach God had ever designed.

The inn's food was a health hazard, which Hermione had learned the hard way one of the first years there, in what had been the worst trips in history as far as she was concerned ...

Anyway if you listened to Mrs. Cole, that place could hold its own against the Ritz.

After bargaining for the price of the rooms with the landlord, a man almost as amiable as Mr. Wool, Hermione handed out the keys and the usual recommendations on good behavior, avoiding focusing too much on Dennis in the hope he wouldn't take that as a list of rules awaiting to be broken; then, everyone retreated to the their own room to rest a little before lunch.

Hermione shared a room with Tom and Eric, Mrs. Cole slept in a room with Mr. Wool, who could not be left alone at night, the other children were split up between boys and girls, just like at the orphanage.

"Don't even think about it." Hermione watched the scene, too tired to react, as Tom removed Eric from her bed and dragged him to the cot under the window.

"Why can I never sleep with her?" Eric complained, following Tom reluctantly.

"Because that's the way things are." Tom said annoyed, helping Eric to climb onto his cot.

"At least read me a story." Said Eric crossing his arms on his chest and looking up at the older boy with a stubborn frown. Tom looked to Hermione for help, but she shrugged, "I'm not squeezing in between you two on that cot! It's either the big bed or you read for him…" She said pulling out a copy of The Midnight Folk, Eric's favorite, and tossing it to Tom.

For a good half hour they relaxed like that, Hermione almost dozed off listening to the sound of Tom's voice, coming from the small cot where he laid next to Eric. When the time to go and meet the others came, Hermione gathered the lunch bags and led the way downstairs.

Given the scarce trust in the inn's food, lunch was brought from home since the dramatic summer of food poisoning, and it was eaten outdoors.

The small bleak clearing behind the inn that Mrs. Cole ambitiously referred to as 'the backyard', had a few ancient picnic tables and some chairs where guests could relax and enjoy the view. From the promontory one could see the whole bay, and even part of the beach, with its sharp and death-promising rocks. The landscape was not too bad… from the distance at least.

It was about 2 in the afternoon when Hermione handed out fruit, bread and cheese to the children and engaged in a conversation with Mrs. Cole about the renovations to be carried out in the orphanage that winter, in the hope that the time to go to the beach would come as late as possible.

"As for the paint job, I think the boys and I should be able to do it ourselves." she said glimpsing at Billy and Charles, sitting a couple of tables away.

"Well, it sure would save us a few bucks!" agreed Mrs. Cole pushing some more cream cheese in Mr. Wool's mouth.

Tom, who was sitting between Hermione and Eric, couldn't tear his eyes off the scene. There was something close to wicked satisfaction painted on his face, an expression that Hermione should have probably chastised but didn't. Mr. Wool, as far as she was concerned, had made his own bed and was welcome to sleep in it. He deserved every bit of hurt that came to him.

"Of course if Richard and Donald were still here... it would take maybe half the time!" Hermione sighed.

"Well they could come by and help out, after all, if it hadn't been for us, they would never have gotten the job in the tailor's shop!"

Well, actually it was Hermione who had gotten the boys that job, but Mrs. Cole had a funny habit of taking all or part of the credit for things like that, and Hermione never found it in her heart to correct her.

"There seems to be a shortage of men on your property." interrupted a deep voice from behind Hermione, Tom whirled around as if someone had stepped on his tail and then scooped closer to her.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to eavesdrop, it's just that this place is so quiet ..." the owner of the deep voice turned out to be a man in his thirties sitting in a shabby rocking chair not too far.

The man had bright eyes and thick red hair that sent a shiver down Hermione's spine, like every time she caught sight of someone who reminded her of a Weasley. He looked nothing like her Ronald, but still, it had been so long since the last time Hermione had seen Ron, and she missed him so desperately, that any mop of red hair would stir something in the pit of her stomach.

"Oh, we don't mind, do we? Please, do join us if you please." Mrs. Cole cheerfully invited, ignoring Hermione's venomous gaze, "There's a sad lack of men in our house indeed, a little company wouldn't hurt!"

"I wouldn't want to intrude..." the man hesitated, catching Hermione's tense gaze and smiling shily.

Hermione had become particularly wary of strangers. Walking around with 9 children, whose life depended on her, had made her, well… not very trusting. If there were people like Mr. Wool around, she told herself, not letting her guard down was quite essential, especially on occasions like this when she didn't have her wand with her.

However, she felt that sometimes her distrust could get to be a little extreme. Nothing about that man screamed child rapist, plus they were in a public spot and both Dennis and Billy were big enough to stand up to a full grown man by now, should the situation request it.

Throwing one last instinctive glance at the children scattered around in the clearing and mentally counting them, Hermione sighed in surrender and pulled a genuine smile on her face.

"Oh please, just sit with us if you please sir, our Mrs. Cole is rarely in such a good mood, everyone should enjoy the joyful event!" She said pointing at an empty seat at their table. Mrs. Cole frowned and Hermione grinned at her.

"There is plenty men in our house..." Tom murmured, his jaw set in the angry expression. Eric looked tense beside him and kept looking from Tom to Hermione trying to read the room.

The red-haired man smiled condescendingly as he stepped closer and took a seat. Tom stabbed him with his sharp clear gaze every step of the way.

"Obviously, I didn't mean to offend you, Mr.?"

"Tom." Hermione replied when Tom didn't seem about to do so, "And I'm Mrs. Granger." She introduced herself.

"Joseph Southwick." The man said taking off his hat and placing it on the table.

"Eric." Eric said leaning over Tom to take the hand Mr. Southwick held out to him.

"Well now that we've all introduced ourselves, Mr. Southwick..." Tom said looking at Hermione with a tense expression, "I believe it's time to get going".

"Tom, be good." Admonished Hermione. He growled a little.

"Don't mind Tom, Mr. Southwick," Mrs. Cole said stiffly, "He's just a little jealous of our Mrs. Granger lately. Boys will be boys, you know how it is!"

"Of course, anyone would be jealous of such a young and pretty Mom." Joseph smiled tentatively at Hermione.

Hermione didn't remember ever being easily sensitive to compliments, however, she couldn't help but blush at those words, and quite conspicuously too. Not that she was particularly impressed with Mr. Southwish, rather it might have been that compliments from a young man were now a rare occurrence, or that she hardly spoke to men, other than the fishmonger or the butcher.

"Why are you blushing?" Tom growled beside her bristling at the sight of her cheeks.

"I'm not blushing, don't be ridiculous." Hermione said quickly, "I'm not!" She then repeated to Mrs. Cole, who was looking at her with an eyebrow raised in an amused expression.

Hermione scoffed, annoyed with her own treacherous cheeks, and turned her gaze on the table. So what if she didn't mind a silly compliment every now and then?

All this fuss for such a trivial interaction. Ridiculous indeed. Plus, had Draco Malfoy gotten a glimpse of her right now, he would have had material to insult her for centuries to come. Pretty my arse. She could hear his voice ring in her ears, taunting her.

Somewhere in her mind she wondered why Draco Malfoy was still her yardstick in these situations but she soon dismissed the thought.

"Your mom must be very shy, I apologize, I didn't mean to embarrass her." Mr. Southwick said cheerfully.

"She's not my mother." Hissed Tom, visibly seething at the man sitting in front of him.

"Oh, my bad, I assumed he was yours!" The man apologized quickly locking eyes with Hermione this once.

Hermione shook her head no but before she could say anything else someone else spoke in her place.

"Yer got that backwards." Said Dennis joining them at the table and grinning at Tom, "It is she 'oo belongs ter him. Ain't that right, Tom?" Both Joseph and Mrs. Cole laughed at those words.

Hermione sobered up instead, more concerned about the rage whirling visibly behind Tom's murderous gaze now. Oh, no, not another fight, she thought.

"Boys!" Hermione scolded stiffening, "You're making fools of yourselves! What will Mr. Southwick think of us?"

"You're damn right she's mine." Tom snarled but then his lips tightened into a thin line under Hermione's stern gaze and he looked away. You promised, she tried to yell with the power of her eyes.

"They're all orphans." Hermione provided, "So we're all each other's in a sense…" she added shrugging under Mr. Southwick kind gaze.

"Except 'and meant wot' e said!" Dennis added, still grinning.

"Dennis!"

"I like your accent, boy! Where are you all from?" Mr. Southwick tried to change the topic.

"London." Said Mrs. Cole.

"None of your business." Said Tom at the same time.

"Tom!" scolded Mrs. Cole in her best outraged tone.

"Tom…" Hermione spat through gritted teeth. Tom shot her a dirty look, "If you can't behave politely then maybe you want to excuse yourself and take a stroll, it'll clear your mind."

"Fine." Said Tom, "You come with me." He ordered.

Hermione held his gaze angrily without moving.

There was a moment of silence around the table, during which Mr. Southwick seemed about to apologize and leave, but then Tom got up silently and walked away from the table. Eric started to follow after him but Hermione held him back.

"Stay with us Eric, you know it's best to leave him alone."

Dennis snorted out loud and walked away from the table too, quickly losing interest in the group now that he couldn't torment Tom anymore.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have accepted your kind invitation, I seem to have annoyed the children..."

"Oh don't worry Mr. Southwick, Tom is like that with everyone, he seems to like Mrs. Granger and no one els..."

"Forgive them, they are all very tired, we've come a long way." Hermione said cutting off the older woman. If there was one thing she hated it was hearing others speak ill of Tom. Hermione turned to take one last worried look at the children. Tom was savagely tearing up the few leaves that were left on a sad piece of hedge along the perimeter of the clearing. Billy was sitting on one of the picnic tables and he nodded when Hermione gestured for him to keep an eye on the situation.

"So, what brings you here?"

The three adults and Eric spent a good twenty minutes chatting about this and that while the other children roamed around the clearing eating their lunch. It turned out that Mr. Southwick was headed to London where he would start working as a bricklayer for his cousin's company.

He was a genuine and kind man and it was easy to talk to him. When the time to part ways came, he even offered to help at the orphanage that winter and Mrs. Cole felt thrilled enough to give the man their address, despite Hermione kicking her savagely under the table.

"What is it? Wasn't he a kind man?" the woman hissed, rubbing her shins when Mr. Southwick was far enough away not to hear.

"Sure he was. Still, you can't go around giving our address to every kind stranger we meet!" Hermione snapped, casting a worried glance at the beach, knowing it was about time to go.

"Oh, nonsense! You're too suspicious! What is the worst that could happen? He'll steal our precious collection of china? Did you leave any gold bars in plain sight?"

"Well there are seven children to keep safe for one thing..." Hermione snorted. Mrs. Cole rolled her eyes and stood up helping Mr. Wool do the same.

"Who would harm those children!" she asked in annoyance, and Hermione raised an eyebrow as she looked from Mrs. Cole to Mr. Wool with obvious sarcasm.

"Four children." Billy said looking at Hermione with an expression she had never seen on him. Concern? Worry? Panic.

"What does it mean?" She asked, immediately looking around and instinctively pulling Eric closer to her.

"Not seven… we're missing three of them already." Billy said as he moved into the clearing to look around with an increasingly alarmed expression that froze the blood in Hermione's veins.

Hermione's eyes bounced around the clearing along with Mrs. Cole's surprised gaze.

"Where… what? How?!" Hermione stammered.

"Well, I told them to behave, went to take a leak and…" Billy spun around once more, as if hoping he could make at least one of the three missing puzzle pieces reappear.

Olivia was sitting with Charles at the next table but there was no sign of Tom, Amy or Dennis.

Both Tom and Dennis were missing.

Hermione's throat went dry instantly and her head went light as it filled with hideous possibilities.

"Charles!" called Billy, "Where are Amy, the Demon and the bloody idiot?"

Charles shrugged and looked around frowning in confusion.

"They were here moments ago ... Dennis said something to Tom and they were arguing, talking about a cave or something. Amy was trying to calm Dennis."

"A cave?" Mrs. Cole asked, "Maybe they went to the beach then ... Mrs. Hermione? Can you hear me? Are you okay? Mrs. Hermione!?"

The voices around her became distant echoes. Hermione felt the nausea come back in waves and the life drain out of her face.

A cave.

How could she have forgotten such a thing? Her hands trembled and her heart slammed into her chest stealing oxygen from her brain.

A cave. The cave. She had been so convinced to have changed the course of events that she had no longer bothered to trace the events of history as she knew it. What a fucking idiot.

The image of Tom, lying next to Eric, reading fairy tales to the younger child, flashed in her mind as she tried to tell herself that this might have been just a coincidence. There was no way that boy, that sweet, smart boy could have…

But as much as she sought alternative explanations, there was a face that was slowly taking shape in her memory. A pale face, with eyes as red as blood, with sharp yellowed teeth and two reptilian slits for a nose.

Nothing had changed. Nothing had changed.

The realization hit her like a kick in the stomach and Hermione fell to her knees under the frightened gaze of the children and Mrs. Cole.

"NO!" She yelled, barely hearing her own voice beyond the clamor in her head.

"Mrs. Hermione!" Billy's slap was far more violent than necessary but brought Hermione back to reality sure enough. She looked up into Billy Stubbs' frightened eyes, but she saw Harry standing there in his place.

Harry. She couldn't have forgotten about him. How could she have been so stupid?

" _So why the cave? For the locket I mean…" Said Ron frowning in the dancing light of the campfire._

" _It wasn't just any cave, apparently." Explained Harry skewering a marshmallow and looking at it as if he could somehow turn it into a sausage with the sheer power of his mind, "He had been there before. Dumbledore said something about it… he used to go there over summer when he was a child, once he dragged two fellow orphans in there, magicked them to madness… they have never been the same after. I guess it meant something to him."_

" _How could he have performed such magic if he was just a child?" Asked Hermione while her marshmallow melted through her stick and fell into the fire, "Shit…"_

" _Well, he is a mad man, but he has always been too powerful for his own good, I have seen it myself."_

No. It was impossible. Hermione felt cold sweat running down her neck.

"We have to go, now." Hermione said coming to her senses and rising from the ground as if she had bounced off some springs.

"Mrs. Cole, you stay here with the children and Mr. Wool." Hermione said as she, Billy and Charles exchanged a look of agreement.

The three immediately launched towards the road that descended towards the beach cove, running at breakneck speed, leaving behind a frightened Mrs. Cole standing with Eric, Olivia and Mr. Wool.

"Here!" Billy yelled as he pulled Hermione down a side path that cut straight to the beach. There was no reason why Billy should have been as scared as Hermione was, he knew nothing about the cave or Voldemort, yet the fact that he instinctively was, terrified Hermione even more.

It couldn't be, Hermione tried to tell herself, Tom had never yet given signs of involuntary magic. It was impossible for this to be the same timeline.

He had not yet manifested any power, it was unthinkable, he couldn't have learned how to control his magic right under her nose. Or could he?

No.

Hermione had been careful, she had kept an eye on him, she had shadowed him consistently, she had been observant. Or had she?

Please, please. Hermione begged while her legs carried her down to the cove.

They all lost speed as their feet sank into the thin sand, and they started looking around frantically.

The beach was deserted, the sound of the waves infiltrating the coves in the rocks and sucking the air, was deafening. The seagulls cawed flying in circles over them like vultures. The whole place screamed danger, just like she remembered, and the children were nowhere to be seen.

"TOM?!" Hermione screamed at the top of her lungs.

"DENNIS? AMY?"

She, Billy and Charles looked everywhere, climbed every rock, kept screaming until their voices became hoarse and too low for them to hear.

Hermione stared with wide eyes at the mountainside hanging over the rough sea, every hole in the wall could have been the cave, and if she hadn't been a complete idiot, she could have spotted the right one with a flick of her wand.

The wand she hadn't brought because she had relaxed, had let her guard down. It was her fault. Her fault.

As the sun kissed the horizon, Mrs. Cole found Hermione sitting in the sand beside Billy and Charles, her eyes still glued to the mountain wall and her face streaked with tears.

It took the combined efforts of Billy, Charles and Mrs. Cole to drag Hermione back to the inn when it got too dark and the sea started to eat off the beach with the arrival of high tide.

The one that followed was the longest night after the Battle of Hogwarts Hermione had ever lived through.

After putting Mr. Wool to bed, everyone else gathered in Hermione's room. Nobody felt like eating, they were all just scared and worried to death.

"They will come back, I'm sure they got lost while quarreling... tomorrow the police will be here, we'll find them… give them a piece of our mind… Oh, my Amy…" Mrs. Cole sobbed absently, sipping yet another cup of tea struggling against the tremor in her hands.

Hermione sat next to the bed where the remaining four children slept together, she caressed Eric's blonde curls with one hand, while holding one of Tom's shirt tight in the other.

It was the first time in five years that Hermione had lost sight of Tom.

The first time she spent a night without him pestering her with all kind of questions, poking her in the ribs for a bed time story, or simply snoring softly beside her. The first time he disappeared since he had slipped through her fingers that first morning five years earlier, only to reappear covered in soot late in the evening.

Hermione knew she should have felt disappointed, angry; she knew she should have been worried about Amy and Dennis, because as things had turned out in the story she knew, they would be the ones to suffer the consequences of that night.

Despite knowing all of this, Hermione could not prevent very different feelings from stabbing her chest in small waves.

It was that same sense of emptiness, of bitterness, of loneliness that she had felt when she had had to say goodbye to her parents a life time ago.

An almost physical sense of loss, as if someone had severed her arm or leg. And it was all undeniably due to Tom's absence.

She was afraid that Tom might have hurt himself, that she would never see him again and she hated herself for it. She hated herself because she couldn't help but be worried about Tom, rather than his real victims. What did it say about her?

She loved that child as if he were a part of herself and she wasn't even sure since when.

When had she become so attached to him? When had it become so essential that he be safe? Why repeating to herself that that child had just taken the first step towards Lord Voldemort was no longer a deterrent to worrying about him?

Mrs. Cole talked to her all night, Hermione never really knew what the woman said though, lost as she was in her own thoughts.

When the sun hit the window sills, Hermione jumped to her feet with a feeling in her guts telling her that now was the right time.

"Mrs. Cole." She whispered, the woman met her eyes immediately, "Mrs. Cole stay with the children and if you don't see me coming back within an hour, call the police, tell them the children are missing."

Mrs. Cole nodded, her face as pale as that of a ghost.

Hermione didn't run this time, she walked down the road leading to the beach with measured steps. The sun was barely starting to warm the air and the fog still covered most of the landscape. It felt like walking through a dream.

When she got to the beach, she didn't have to look around, somehow, she knew exactly where to look to find them.

And there she saw him first, standing in the mist, pale, with wide frightened eyes.

Dennis was sitting in the sand, his blank gaze was aimed at the horizon and his mouth was slightly ajar, in what would have been an everlasting look of awe on his face.

Amy sat next to him, she was crying hysterically and shaking Dennis, unable to really bring him back to her.

"What happened? What happened to us?" her shrill shrieks echoed across the cove but Tom was ignoring her altogether, he kept his eyes on the figure walking towards him, his head held high.

Hermione stopped in front of him and gave a quick glance at the two children in the sand. She knew there was nothing to be done for Dennis right now, not without a wand anyway.

Tom stared up at her, so many different emotions flashing on his face that Hermione had troubles figuring out what he was thinking.

"Where were you?" She asked trying to control the tremble in her voice.

His lips remained sealed but anger clearly took over his features.

"You promised…" Hermione said, in what little voice she had left.

"You didn't hear me arguing with him, you don't have to stitch up either of us, and there was no bickering. In fact, I doubt there will be bickering from now on." He said calmly.

The slap that landed on Tom's cheek rang so loud that even Amy's crying stopped for a moment.

"I went for a walk and cleared my mind, just like you said. Maybe you should have come with me... you left me with him." Tom hissed.

Then, thank God, Hermione saw it. A little twitch in his eyes when he saw the tears streaming down her face.

"Do not… hate me… please." Tom whispered, suddenly loosing every trace of anger and giving in to fear instead, as if he had just woken up now from a terrible nightmare.

As if he had just realized who he had been talking to.

His eyes slipped away from hers and stopped on his shirt, which Hermione still held in her fist.

Tears begun streaming down Tom's cheeks too and he started shaking and stammering nonsense. Hermione wouldn't have known for years, but that had been the exact moment Tom Riddle had realized he was indeed loved.

"What have you done, Tom?"

"I ... don't ... I don't know. I didn't mean… we…" He stammered, "I was just so angry… he wouldn't stop…"

Hermione sobbed louder and his eyes darted into hers again, a raging storm in his clear irises, "I didn't do anything! We were just… we went exploring and… I didn't touch him…"

"You wouldn't need to, would you? What have you done, Tom? Why haven't you told me?" Hermione dropped on her knees and Tom threw himself in her arms, sobbing, his chest heaving fast, she could feel his heart slamming against hers.

"I didn't do it on purpose! I didn't!"

"No, no, let go, Tom, don't touch me." Hermione tried to extricate herself from the hug but the more she pushed him away, the more stubbornly Tom threw himself at her, trying to cling as close as possible.

"Please, please, Mrs. Hermione, no! Don't hate me, don't hate me! Don't leave me alone! Don't go away. Don't leave me alone. I'm not a demon, I'm not! I swear!"

A demon. Hermione's heart broke in a thousand pieces.

"I'm not a demon… don't leave me alone."

No, Tom wasn't a demon, and she was more guilty than anyone if he'd felt like one.

Hermione's goal should have been to lead Tom, to make him more comfortable with his true nature, but she had been so caught up with everything else that she had denied her own true nature instead, acting like a muggle, leaving him alone with his diversity, giving for grated that he would be comfortable enough to show her his magic when the time would come.

What witch would have traveled without her wand? Hermione would never even have considered it possible five years ago. She barely left one room for the next without her wand up her sleeve... and now? The only spells she used were to fold clothes when she was too tired ... what had become of her?

Of course he was not a demon, but what would he know? How would he have known she wouldn't be scared of his power? How would he have known she was the one he could tell?

"Please, please, don't hate me."

That was when it hit her. There was still hope. She might have made a mistake but there was hope.

Perhaps Hermione's intervention hadn't been entirely in vain. Yes, she had taken a slip but there was still hope. As long as Tom was able to cry tears of true guilt, as long as he felt the pain and feared the loss of her love, it must have meant that Voldemort was not yet the only outcome.

As painful as admitting her mistakes was, it still meant that this little accident wasn't completely Tom's fault.

He was not yet a monster, his eyes were still clear as the sky, blue like the ocean, and frightened to death, there was no horcrux in that cave. There was no horcrux.

Tom was capable of jealousy, fear, sadness, happiness, tenderness, joy… love.

Maybe he wasn't able to show his love the conventional way, not the way Eric or Olivia would, but the heart rampaging in his chest as Hermione tried to pull away from his hug, had to account for something. It was proof he felt something.

It couldn't be just her mind playing tricks on her. Tom was capable of love, he was just hurt and confused.

He was still worth saving, wasn't he?

_"Love is a power you can't understand Riddle, and I believe I proved that to you tonight. You've never been loved and you don't get it, you…"_

_"You think you know everything." Hissed Voldemort, "What do you know about who loved me and who didn't? What do you know about me?"_

"You are not a demon, of course you're not, my love… I don't hate you, Tom… just, just tell me what happened? I won't be angry, I swear, just tell me, just… Tom…" But no matter how many times Hermione asked, Tom always replied that he didn't know or that he hadn't done anything, and deep down Hermione thought it was true.

Clearly Tom had known about his powers for a while now, and perhaps marginally, he had also learned how to control them, but there was no way in hell he would know what he had done to those children.

They cried for a long time, hugging each other in the sand, both faced with their own mistakes, both realizing what was really at stake here.

When Hermione, Tom, Amy and Dennis arrived at the inn, Mrs. Cole was just about to call the police . When the woman tried to ask what had happened, neither Amy nor Dennis seemed to be able to put it into words and all Tom would say was that they had gotten lost while exploring one of the caves.

The way Mrs. Cole and the other children looked at Tom spoke volumes. It was as if they didn't even need proof to know that he had done something, that it was his fault.

Hermione was ashamed of never having taken into account the opinion of those children, of having always underestimated their instincts, which in the long run had certainly proven more accurate than hers.

 _'Love makes people do crazy things, doesn't it?'_ The memory of the night before slapped her as she met Billy's sharp, betrayed gaze.

On the other hand, Hermione also felt particularly protective of Tom, responsible for his mistakes. Such a traumatized little child, finding out such extraordinary powers... how must that have felt? How long had he felt different, lonely, so far apart from the others?

Suddenly Hermione felt just as different.

Light years away from those Muggles, who just couldn't understand them.

She felt the need to get Tom to the safety of their own kind, where he could understand that he was more than normal. It was just another kind of normal from what he might have thought. God, knew, living in the Wizarding Community, might have also helped downsize his feeling of superiority now that he knew how to use power to solve his problems.

The children quickly gathered their belongings and the group left Dorset on the first bus to London that morning, all of them refused to sit next to Tom on the bus. Even Eric, who would usually share his sit with Tom to be able to sit closer to Hermione, went to sit with Mrs. Cole and Mr. Wool in the far back of the bus.

It was as if everyone had felt the barrier between the two different species rising. The mere fact that Hermione hadn't spoken a word since she had returned with the three children, the mere fact that she had stood there in silence, holding Tom's hand the whole time, had been essential proof for them of where she stood, and it wasn't with them. It couldn't have been, as much as she loved them dearly, Tom needed her the most.

"We're going to have to talk about this." Was all Mrs. Cole said to Hermione while they boarded the bus. Hermione just nodded. Of course they were going to have to talk, she just wasn't sure what she was going to say yet.

Tom slept for the whole trip pressed against Hermione's chest, his hands clawing at her shirt, terrified that if he'd let go of her for even just a second, she'd disappear, which was good, because it meant he hadn't yet realized the hold he had on her heart.

During that trip Hermione had time to rearrange her thoughts, to find within her, the list of her goals that she had drawn up five years earlier and laugh bitterly at the naivety she had written it with. Simplistic, stupid.

Clearly she had begun that adventure with the best of intentions but underestimating most factors. Her list required major changes.

"I'll make it right to you, I won't let you slip through my fingers. I'll protect you from him..." She whispered against Tom's forehead, "I'm sorry."

"Can I talk to you, in private?" Mrs. Cole asked, peeking in the direction of Tom, who was lying quietly in Hermione's bed, buried under several layers of blankets, while she sat at her desk.

It was only when the woman asked, that Hermione realized no one had spoken much since they had returned to the orphanage. In fact, the house had never been that quiet before.

Mrs. Cole had taken Dennis and Amy to the doctor as soon as the bus had dropped them off at their stop.

Hermione had unpacked and cooked dinner moving around by inertia, buried in her thoughts. The children had disappeared into their rooms, except for Tom, who had silently followed her through her chores, and then into her room, where Hermione had spent a good half hour staring at the Time Turner pendant.

Hermione nodded, stood up and followed Mrs. Cole out into the hall.

"How are they?" she asked, her voice still hoarse from all the screaming and crying.

Mrs. Cole sighed deeply.

"Amy is sleeping in the girl's room, the doctor held Dennis for the night, he's acting... oddly ... as if he's no longer aware of his surroundings." Hermione sniffed and looked at the tips of her shoes, unable to hold the woman's gaze.

"The doctor says he is physically fine but it is too early to know if he will come to his senses. God knows what happened to him…" Hermione nodded and bit her lip, aware that Mrs. Cole was about to address the other topic.

"As for Tom, Mrs. Hermione ..."

"Tom is fine." Hermione said.

"Mrs. Hermione, the boy has to go."

"What?!" Hermione snapped but was interrupted by Mrs. Cole.

"Listen to me! It's obvious! He's not… he's not normal! How come he was the only one to come back from that cave in his right mind?!"

"Well thank God he did! You can't just arbitrarily decide that…"

"HE IS… he's different, Mrs. Hermione! I've known it for years and you must know too! I mean ... have you seen Amy? The girl shakes like a leaf just hearing his name! None of the children likes him, in fact, most of them are terrified by him... he's... I don't know..." Mrs. Cole sighed struggling to put her feeling into words.

"He is different." Hermione confirmed, "But you don't have any proof that he did something wr..."

"No, Mrs. Hermione. I don't need proof. Anyone in this house can feel that something is wrong with him!" Mrs. Cole whispered nervously.

"This is madness! He's not even 10! Tom is certainly different from the others but...!

"I have no room for buts anymore, Mrs. Hermione. That boy has to go. We can't go on pretending not to see what is so obvious! You can't keep your eyes shut!"

Hermione held Mrs. Cole's serious and stern gaze for a long minute of silence.

"All right." she then said, "He has to go. I just need some time to make some arrangements."

"What arrangements?" Mrs. Cole asked, lowering her voice.

"I have to reach out to a person ... a ... a doctor of sorts. He will come to evaluate ... to visit Tom. After that I'm sure I'll be able to work something out."

Mrs. Cole hesitated for a moment, undecided whether to trust her, but how much choice did she have? It wasn't like she had a real plan to get rid of the boy herself. Finally, the woman reached that same conclusion and nodded quickly.

"Until they evaluate him then." Mrs. Cole agreed. Hermione nodded in turn.

"You can also start looking for someone to take my place. You can use my money to publish something on the paper if you please." she added as low as she could, knowing there was probably no ear in the whole house that wasn't trying to hear that conversation.

Mrs. Cole almost choked on her tongue and her jaw dropped, but before the woman could say more, Hermione turned and walked back into the room.

Tom was sitting in the middle of her bed, his eyes large with fear and red-rimmed, his lips red and chapped.

"You will send me away, right?" he asked, his voice broken by a sob.

Hermione didn't answer, she went back to sit at the desk where a piece of white parchment was waiting for her.

"I'm not ... I'm not a demon. You said you didn't hate me…"

"No Tom, you are not and I don't." Hermione confirmed, still not looking at him.

"I'm not crazy."

"I know."

"Then why do you want to have a doctor come and see me?" he asked as he slid off the bed and clenched his fists along his hips.

"It's not what you think, Tom, you'll understand everything soon."

"No! You are a liar! You are just like them!" Hermione looked up from her parchment and met Tom's gaze. It was easy to see it now, his magic crept and crackled around him, too powerful for the little container he was. How could she have missed it?

"Tom." Hermione's voice went low, Tom's gaze deepened, he looked confused as he searched for traces of the truth on Hermione's face, "Have I ever lied to you? "

Tom shook his head no.

"Do you remember what a leap of faith is, Tom?"

He nodded slowly.

"Well, now go to bed and sleep then."

"You won't leave me alone, you ... you can't let them take me away… I… you… you can't be like them. I would never hurt… you." he stammered, refusing to obey until she answered. Hermione stood up again and went to kneel in front of him until their gaze was leveled.

"Look at me, Tom." she ordered, he obeyed and reached his hand into her curls, seeking for a physical contact that would reassure him, "I will never leave you alone, ever. You are not alone, Tom. You are not crazy. You are very much loved. Can you understand that?"

Tom held her gaze, his eyes widened but he didn't say anything.

"It will be just you and me, Tom, it will be us, but you have to promise me there will be no more secrets, Tom."

"Just you and me?" Tom repeated the words, visibly bewitched by their sound.

"Just you and me, wherever you go, whatever happens, ok?"

"I promise." his voice sounded far too solemn for a nine-year-old.

"Now go to bed, I have to write a letter."

"To the doctor?" he asked removing his hand from her hair.

"You'll understand soon, I want you to talk to Dumbledore before you talk to me. He's certainly more experienced than I am, and maybe it's time for someone experienced to deal with this situation. I've made too many mistakes already." She said, wiping away a tear.

"You don't make mistakes, you're... good."

"Good people can still make mistakes, Tom. You made one too, yet, you're a good boy, aren't you? Thankfully, mistakes can still come in handy."

"How so?"

"Well if you're smart, you can learn something from your mistakes and avoid repeating them." Said Hermione sniffling softly and standing back up.

"Who is Dumbledore?" Tom asked taking a step back.

"Tom, bed, now." Hermione said in a tone that left no room for further questions.

For too long Hermione had put off contacting Dumbledore, convinced that the man would show up as soon as Tom's powers would catch the attention of the Ministry of Magic. However, if Tom had gotten to the point where he could control his own magic, Hermione wasn't sure she could just wait for them anymore, she wasn't even sure it worked that way.

Maybe someone had contacted the ministry in the past? Someone who with Hermione's presence in this timeline, no longer existed? She wasn't sure of anything anymore, and at a time like this, contacting Dumbledore was the only sensible thing to do.

Solving the mystery of L.M. and fixing the time-turner were next on her list.


	4. You Wait For Me

**Chapter 4: You wait for me**

Albus Dumbledore showed up at the orphanage on a warm August day, over one year after what had been addressed as 'The Summer of the cave'.

Not that Hermione had expected it to take any less than that.

With the Wizarding World at the gates of the Global Wizarding War and the Muggle World at the World War II ones, issues regarding magical children in the care of frightened Muggles had slipped down the Ministry of Magic's priority list, quite unsurprisingly.

Luckily, time had gone by fast enough as it had been a busy year for the orphanage too.

Trying to distract Tom and keeping the balance between everyone in the house had been no piece of cake, in fact, by the time Dumbledore knocked at the door on that August day, Hermione had even forgotten that this was the day they would meet.

The man standing before her, when she absentmindedly opened the door, was dressed in a plum-colored and quite extravagantly cut suit, which was a fortunate thing, as the flamboyant dress somehow made up for Hermione's prolonged silence when she first laid eyes on him.

Of course, Hermione's shock wasn't entirely due to the man's lack of fashion sense. Indeed, her prolonged silence had more to do with the fact that the last time she had seen Dumbledore, he had been dead and laying in his own coffin.

The 57-year-old Albus Dumbledore standing before her now, was quite different from the hoary headmaster Hermione remembered, besides the obvious fact that he was… well, alive.

While Dumbledore still had his cerulean eyes, framed by his distinctive crescent-shaped glasses, there was a mischievous glint in those clear irises of his, a glint that Hermione had never seen before.

While he still had long beard and hair, they were not the pretty pearl white Hermione remembered them to be, but auburn instead, and quite messy to be completely honest.

The wizard was missing at least a hundred years of wrinkles and, although that of the future was also a fairly tall and imposing man, this Dumbledore seemed to be even taller and wider.

If she had to say it in one word, he was 'younger', which was totally ludicrous for Hermione.

She was just trying to place the words 'young' and 'Dumbledore' together in a sentence, when that odd version of her former Headmaster, coughed, shaking Hermione out of her daze and making her realize she had been staring at him for the last three minutes with an expression that must have seemed befuddled, to say the least.

Hermione shook her head and stopped twisting her apron as if expecting Felix Felicis to squeeze out of it.

She blurted out some incoherent sounds, words that weren't words but a disjointed jumble of sighs, sobs and stammers, before managing a questioning expression, that she hoped would pass as a good enough 'How may I help you?'.

It did.

"Hello, I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who I believe to be the matron…?"

"Oh..." Hermione stammered "Uh... just... yes... of course... MRS. COLE? " Hermione yelled over her shoulder as she gestured for Dumbledore to come in.

The man followed as she stiffly lead the way to the living room, trying to suppress the excitement and bring enough oxygen to the brain to find the words and explain to Dumbledore that it hadn't really been Mrs. Cole the one to seek help for the 'psychological assessment of a child with peculiar behaviors'.

It had obviously been Hermione the one to contact the most absurdly-named psychiatric institution on the list, the one conveniently located in Great Scotland Yard, in what she knew was the building that housed the Ministry of Magic.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Cole moved faster than Hermione's overstimulated brain and she popped into the room seconds later, followed by Betty, the girl who would have, hopefully soon, taken over Hermione's place.

To be fair, Betty was already doing most of the work by now, as these days Hermione was mostly concerned with keeping Tom busy and looking for jobs and apartments closer to Diagon Alley. However, Mrs. Cole kept referring to Betty as to the 'trainee' or 'the tryout', and, much to Hermione's surprise, she didn't seem to be in any rush to let Hermione go, despite desperately wanting Tom to leave instead.

"Please take the iodine upstairs, Betty. Billy and Eric need a change of sheets too and oh boy, as if we needed chicken pox on top of everything else! Dear me!" It had been strangely invigorating to see Mrs. Cole take back the reins of the orphanage.

If Hermione had known the woman would benefit from it that much, she would have let her do more and much sooner. The change was astounding. Mrs. Cole looked even younger and healthier now that she could order poor Betty around only to complain that whatever the girl did was not done right, not done accurately enough, or sometimes, too accurately done.

In short, nothing was ever right, and Mrs. Cole couldn't be happier about it.

Now, if only someone could have taken a picture of the moment the matron's eyes fell on Dumbledore...

Mrs. Cole seemed to be wondering, with genuine concern, whether the funny man in purple was actually standing there, or if someone had put something in her tea.

"Good afternoon ... sir?" the woman asked looking from Dumbledore to Hermione with an expression that seemed to ask whether she could see the man too, to which Hermione nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Why, good afternoon, Madam. I'm Albus Dumbledore, I believe we corresponded?" offered the professor, as he watched the woman's disbelief turn into confusion, realization and then, quickly, into a furious frown that landed on Hermione along with the eyes of the future Headmaster.

Hermione smiled apologetically.

There were several reasons why Hermione had decided, after long consideration, that she would not contact Dumbledore in person or by owl. To begin with, the Dumbledore of this time did not know Hermione and it would have seemed too odd and suspicious to ask for a personal favor.

Second, if the ministry had known there was an adult witch in Tom's area, they would have probably postponed their intervention, delaying Hermione's request for help too.

It also didn't seem smart to leave too many traces of a Hermione Granger seeking help for a Tom Riddle in 1937.

Contacting one of the Ministry fronts via Muggle mail, posing as a desperate matron asking for help over the strange behavior of one of the orphans in her care, had felt like the safest course to Hermione.

In retrospect though, she had to admit, she could have at least asked permission from Mrs. Cole before using the woman's identity.

"Of course, we corresponded," said Mrs. Cole, with ill-concealed pretense when Dumbledore coughed again, "I guess we are talking about the Dem... the boy!"

"Yes, precisely." Confirmed the wizard, who, on some level, seemed to have guessed something wasn't completely right.

"Please, do take a sit, Mr. Dunderbore." Said Mrs. Cole pointing at the only two armchairs in the room.

As Dumbledore and Mrs. Cole took their seats, serving themselves two glasses from a bottle of gin that Hermione was pretty sure, hadn't been there a moment earlier, Hermione scurried in a corner of the room and pretended to be very busy dusting a pristine windowsill (damn Betty and her thorough cleaning) while listening as Mrs. Cole talked about Tom's mother, about how she had showed up at the orphanage on New Year's Eve 10 years earlier to die merely hours later, leaving Tom on his own.

A story Hermione had listened to at least a thousand times over the past seven years.

Mrs. Cole did not spare herself from including the usual comments about Merope's unfortunate appearance and the fact that the child had probably inherited his good looks from his father, Tom Riddle Sr.

Hermione curled her nose at those words but said nothing. Years of experience had taught her that she and Mrs. Cole would never have thought the same about certain things, and for obvious reasons.

Tom's good looks, as far as Mrs. Cole was concerned, was the only vaguely noticeable thing about the boy. She couldn't be blamed for thinking like that either, as Tom had never bothered showing the matron any more than his darker shell.

Hermione on the other hand, knew him much more deeply than Mrs. Cole ever could, and she knew for a fact that beauty was certainly not Tom's only quality. It was perhaps the most obvious and the one he couldn't conceal from the world, but it was certainly not the only one. If only life had given Tom a warmer welcome to the world, perhaps everyone could have noticed.

As Mrs. Cole started asking questions about Hogwarts and about Dumbledore, to which the professor carefully avoided answering in too many details, Hermione lost focus on the actual conversation and started staring at Dumbledore instead, searching for bits of her old Headmaster into that unfamiliar features.

He really looked nothing like the man.

The more she observed him, the less she recognized him.

The way he moved, the way he spoke, his demeanor… it was all so different from her memories.

Watching Dumbledore without actually 'seeing' him was a little unsettling, especially since so much depended on him.

Yet here he was, sitting in the orphanage's living room, as the living proof that Hermione was soon to cross at least one item off her to-do list…

The number of times she found herself needing to repeat that mental encouragement, however, didn't bode well.

Dumbledore poured another hefty amount of gin into the matron's glass, who now sported bright red cheeks and nose, while Hermione tried chasing away her dark thoughts by looking at the bright side.

Soon she would have revealed to Dumbledore her story, her origins, she would have finally asked him for help. Perhaps, working together, they'd be able to come up with a solution to all of that mess, and relatively soon too.

Not bad, mh? Hermione nodded to herself.

Dumbledore poured some more clear liquor into the glass.

Hermione clenched her jaw and started mentally listing all of the benefits in store for Tom.

Soon Tom would have known about his true wizarding nature and he would have been able to say goodbye to his uncomfortable Muggle life.

Maybe Hermione could have guided him through this version of history.

Perhaps she would have been able to change a few small details if not history itself… perhaps if she devoted herself fully to him and her research, without having to worry about the orphanage anymore...

How would Dumbledore react to the conversation that would have followed? Would he have agreed to help her solve the Time-Turner mystery?

Even just letting Hermione use the Hogwarts library would have been a big plus already.

Hermione had just started basking in her hopes for the near future, when the rattle of the bottle on the glass shook her back to reality and she frowned at the sight of Mrs. Cole diving into the next glass of gin.

Why was Dumbledore still pouring? And was Hermione going mental, or had she seen him use a Confundus charm just now… on a muggle?

Her skin crawled as Dumbledore turned to smirk at her over his shoulder before returning to focus on the matron.

Every dark thought that Hermione had managed to get rid of in the last few minutes returned to crush her brain and she felt something cold, like pure liquid fear, run down and drop in her belly.

Who was this wizard? Was he really Dumbledore? Why couldn't she feel that warm feeling of trust that had always given her, Harry and Ron courage and hope?

Hermione wondered if it was due to the wizard's new and unfamiliar appearance or to the year she had spent with Ron and Harry chasing Horcruxes while trying to unravel Dumbledore's unspoken plans…

Perhaps it was due to Voldemort's voice barking that Dumbledore was not to be trusted, somewhere within her memories.

No. Hermione slightly shook her head.

This was no time to waver.

Dumbledore was here, soon she would no longer be alone in this adventure, soon she and Tom would get all the help they needed.

Dumbledore had met Tom once before, in one of the possible pasts, this wasn't the time when things were going to go to hell ... right?

Hermione tried to suppress that thought along with the sudden instinct to run up and barricade herself into the room with Tom.

She was just struggling to get ahold of herself and slow down her suddenly erratic heartbeat, when the sound of chairs shifting across the floor and a shuffle of clothes, started her.

"I guess you want to meet him?" Mrs. Cole was asking, her voice vaguely altered by gin.

"Of course." confirmed Dumbledore.

Had this been a good idea?

Hermione wondered as she watched Dumbledore vanishing the bottle of gin from the coffee table without even bothering to hide his wand from them. Not that the Mrs. Cole would be lucid enough to care right now, but still, he did know Hermione was in the room, why would he be so careless?

"Well, please, this way." Mrs. Cole staggered her way to the hall, leading Dumbledore towards Hermione's room.

Hermione followed them without thinking about it twice, with increasing concern clutching her hearth in a tight hold.

This had to be the right path, there was no other choice anyway.

Was Tom going to be ok, though? Was that marvelous and already deeply scarred child, currently buried in a fort of blankets and pillows in her room, and completely entranced by Bilbo's adventures, going to be fine with this version of Dumbledore?

A fleeting memory of Tom winking at her merged with that of a winking Voldemort during the Battle of Hogwarts, and Hermione shivered.

No. No. No.

This was their chance to extinguish Voldemort.

Dumbledore was going to be the beginning of a change. A good change. Right.

Hope was what Hermione needed now, not the silly fright twisting her guts.

She glued her eyes on Dumbledore's back as they made their way up the stairs and took a deep breath.

Okay, so maybe this Albus wasn't yet identical to the one she knew, maybe his methods were slightly unorthodox, but he was still the same person, this had happened before.

This was the man who would duel Grindelwald in a few years, the man who would help Harry.

Hermione exhaled.

'Help Harry sacrifice himself', growled a cruel voice from the recess of her mind, probably from the same spot where Voldemort was still shouting 'Dumbledore was a fool!'.

Hermione inhaled.

What nonsense, this was Dumbledore and surely he would help her. The worse that could happen, was that nothing would change at all, just as it had been up until now.

Nothing changing would still lead to Harry winning the Battle of Hogwarts.

Hermione exhaled.

Unless things could change in worse…

Inhale.

'Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it', whispered the Gryffindor within her.

Exhale.

'I open at the close' whispered Harry's voice from somewhere deeper.

Hermione stopped breathing completely.

"Here we are," said Mrs. Cole holding back a hiccup, "Tom? You have visitors."

When the matron opened the door Hermione caught a glimpse of Tom and her heart skipped several beats as panic locked her muscles.

She saw Tom's eyes finding her first, although she was standing in the background, and then move on Dumbledore, lingering there with undisguised disdain.

To be honest, Hermione wasn't sure how much the child had believed about Dumbledore not being a real psychiatrist.

She smiled faintly in encouragement, knowing that Tom always managed to keep her in his peripheral vision, especially in the presence of strangers, however if he saw her, he made no sign to make it known.

The door closed behind Dumbledore's back, before Hermione was ready for it to happen and all of a sudden she was standing in the dark hallway with a very drunk Mrs. Cole and her wand squeezed so tight in her hand that it hurt.

"Is this the visit we were expecting? The evaluation?" Mrs. Cole asked with a sniffle.

Hermione nodded, unable to divert her gaze from the door.

"So, you'll leave soon? Have… you arranged for a place to stay already?" Mrs. Cole leaned against the wall and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

"Soon. If everything goes according to plan, we shall leave soon." Said Hermione.

"Eric will be crushed… poor soul… and Olivia… oh well, we knew it would happen sooner or later right?" Said Mrs. Cole trying to sound cheerful with very little success.

Hermione looked as the woman staggered towards the boys' room.

"Mrs. Cole?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry for using your name without asking…"

Mrs. Cole smiled smugly, then jutted her chin at the room Hermione shared with Tom, "If you sleep with dogs you'll wake up with fleas! You'll be careful, will you?" then, without waiting for a reply, Mrs. Cole opened the boy's room and disappeared inside.

Hermione spent the next 20 minutes standing in the hallway, straining her ear for any suspicious sound, trying to ignore that strange feeling of doom in the pit of her stomach, as if something terribly wrong could happen at any moment.

She thought back to Harry, who she knew had seen what had happened beyond that door in a pensieve. Too bad she hadn't been able to take a look at Dumbledore's memories too, she thought as she waited.

When the door to the room finally unlocked, Hermione held her breath.

Dumbledore stepped out and into the corridor and his eyes immediately locked with hers.

"Sir?" Tom's voice rang from somewhere behind the tall wizard and Hermione felt a little ashamed of the relief she felt in hearing that voice.

He was ok.

Dumbledore didn't turn to look at the boy, he simply stopped under the threshold while holding Hermione's gaze.

"Sir, I can talk to snakes. They find me, they… tell me ... things. Is that normal for a wizard?"

A strange dark light danced in Dumbledore's eyes for a second, little more than a flicker of something dark and frightening, then he schooled his expression into a neutral one.

It happened so fast and the hall was so badly lit, that Hermione was quick to convince herself she might have just imagined it, although the new trail of goosebumps down her back and legs, pulling at her skin uncomfortably, said otherwise.

"It's rare, but not unheard of." Was the professor's clipped response, "See you soon, Tom."

Again Hermione peered into the room behind the tall wizard, but this time Tom was giving her his back and staring out the window.

Certainly he had a lot to process, she thought, wiping away a couple of tears she didn't know the nature of.

Sadness, happiness, relief, fear… all or none of the above?

"Would you be kind enough to accompany me to the door, miss? I'm not sure I remember how to get there." Dumbledore's voice broke into Hermione's thoughts and she winced.

"Oh, sure, this way."

She led Dumbledore downstairs with her stomach tangled in concern and her brain buzzing with what she would have to say next.

Should she stick to her plan or listen to her instincts and let Dumbledore walk away? After all, Tom was going to go to school soon ... maybe she could avoid giving too much information to Dumbledore for a little while longer.

When they reached the front door, Dumbledore opened it and glanced up at the clear sky above London.

"Perfect weather for Quidditch, don't you think?"

"Oh yes, not a single cloud for miles." Hermione said absentmindedly, then her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with both hands, "Fuck. Oh, shit. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that!" So long for her change of plans.

Dumbledore's lips curled up in a mischievous smile.

"It was fun watching you trying to blend in, Mrs.?"

"Granger, Hermione Granger. Was it that obvious?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and then looked up, pretending to having to think about it.

"Something in the way you freaked out when I used the Confundus on the matron may have sold you out... although, I would say, the magic buzzing around you is the best clue, have you repressed it for a long time?"

Hermione shrugged, "A while."

"Why?" Dumbledore looked at her curiously as he produced a long, and already smoking, pipe out of his cloak, "Why would a witch repress her own magic? And why would a witch use the Muggle post office instead of an owl? Why sign in a Muggle's name?" So long for secrecy and scheming too, he had it all figured out hadn't he?

Hermione blushed fiercely and it took a surprising amount of effort for her not to blurt out the whole truth on the spot. Lying to professors had never been her forte.

"It's complicated." She replied avoiding the man's gaze, "Quite… quite the long story, professor."

"I have time, which is quite the rare event too." Said Dumbledore taking a long puff from his pipe and releasing a pinkish cloud of smoke from his nostrils, "May I ask you to take a walk with me, Mrs. Granger?"

"Well, Tom is surely confused, he might need to talk… I should… I could owl… we could meet again and…" she stammered, still undecided as to what to do. This version of Dumbledore did not strike her for its reliability.

Apparently, though, the wizard had other plans.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Granger, there won't be too many occasions to do this again."

Hermione barely registered Dumbledore's hand landing in the small of her back.

The next thing she knew was the world was turning upside down. A sense of nausea hooked her guts as she was dragged into side-apparition.

When she finally regained her balance and stopped gagging, which took a fair amount of time, Dumbledore was still giggling.

"You are more rusty than I thought, Mrs. Granger."

Hermione glared at the older wizard, who was confirming himself to be more and more different from how she had hoped by the minute, not in a good sense.

"Oh, I'm sorry if I've been a bit rough, didn't mean to upset you."

Forcing side-apparition on someone wasn't exactly something Hermione would have expected from Dumbledore. Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, my arse, she thought bitterly, as she tried to regain some composure and fix the curls that had escaped her bun.

"Madam Puddifoot's?" She then asked, looking around and noticing with relief, that at least, they had landed in a familiar place, "There really was no reason to come this far, Professor."

"Surely better than whispering among muggles, you will agree." replied the man, pulling a chair from one of the outdoor tables, "And I must admit that I have a weakness for the pumpkin pasties here, have you ever had one?"

The place was deserted apart from the two of them and from inside the shop a witch in bright pink robes was already eyeing them.

Hermione hesitated a moment longer. This was it. The moment of truth.

This was where change begun, she told herself, then, she sat down, just as a small flying cherub was throwing a handful of colorful heart-shaped confetti on their table. A few landed in Dumbledore's beard and he didn't even bother brushing them off.

Tea and pasties were served moments later by the woman in pink, who had turned out to be a disturbingly young Madam Puddifoot, in the flesh. The woman cheerfully exchanged some gossip and comments about the weather, then she left them alone, swaying her way back into the shop.

It was then that Dumbledore's expression became serious and focused and he lost all trace of the previous amusement.

"So, Mrs. Granger, what's your story?" the wizard asked, "What are you so eagerly hiding?"

"As I told you professor, it's complicated."

Dumbledore said nothing, he laced his fingers in front of him and held her gaze inviting her to articulate, which was easier said than done. Hermione pulled the collar of her blouse off her sweaty neck and cleared her throat.

"Where to start?" She scoffed embarrassed, "I've been wanting to meet with you for a long time already, but I wasn't sure how you were going to react to what I had to say… In fact, I'm still not quite sure whether what I'm going to do is the right thing to do or not... It's just, that I don't have too many options left."

"You've been waiting to meet… me? How so?" Dumbledore asked, now visibly intrigued.

"Yes, professor." Hermione confirmed, running a finger along the thin edge of her porcelain teacup, which vaguely resembled one of the sickly sweet pink mugs in Umbridge's office, "You see, Professor, the fact is, we actually know each other."

"I'm sorry Mrs. Granger, but I pride myself on having a very good memory, and I must say, your face and name don't ring a bell."

Here goes nothing, thought Hermione before speaking again.

"Oh, this is where it gets complicated, professor. You see, we do know each other, just not yet." It took a moment for Hermione's message to sink.

"Mh ... are you suggesting that you are from… the future?"

Hermione locked eyes with Dumbledore and nodded.

Her throat was dry and her hands were shaking conspicuously, this was the first time she said it out loud, and it sure sounded horrible. She couldn't blame the headmaster for the doubtful and skeptical expression on his face.

"You'll understand that I can't believe what you're saying, right?" He asked, smiling at her politely, as if she had put on a foil hat and revealed to him that the aliens were just around the corner.

"Of course, it wasn't easy for me to believe that at first either." Hermione conceded.

"How could you have travelled back in time? And for what purpose?"

Hermione sighed.

"A Time-Turner and I don't know for sure, it wasn't exactly my doing."

"Mrs. Granger, as surprised as I am that you know what a Time-Turner is in the first place, I hate to be the one to tell you, you should have looked further into it before making up your story. You see, that type of device can't let you travel more than…"

"Five hours into the past..." Hermione finished for him, then bit her lips while Dumbledore looked at her sternly again.

"Well then you see why I can't believe your story… I doubt you and I will have known each other much better in the next five hours." He scoffed and brought his cup to his lips holding her gaze.

"I know about Ariana." Hermione blurted out suddenly.

"What?" Dumbledore nearly choked on a sip of tea.

"I know about Ariana, I know about your father and those Muggles, I know you have a brother and he hasn't talked to you since your sister's funeral, I know about ... Grindelwald… you two knew each other… you… loved… well…"

Dumbledore's cup rattled against the floral saucer as he set it down with shaking hands.

His gaze hardened and Hermione clearly saw him draw his wand even though the coffee table partially covered her view.

"Is that so? Well, silly me, I was hoping this would be an interesting story, but I see now. He sent you, didn't he?."

"He?" Hermione asked, blinking rapidly.

"What does he want now? Has he hired you? Is this a provocation? A warning? I said I wasn't going to meddle but…"

"He?" Hermione felt the ground drop from under her feet for a moment, "Him! No! No I wasn't sent by Grindelwald, professor, heaven no!"

"How else would you know ...?"

"I told you!" She snapped, "I also know you… you like lemon sherbets, at least in the future you do, you have a bowl in your office and you force the damn candies on anyone, and in the most absurd situation! Your office! Right… you have a phoenix in there! Her name is Fawkes!"

Bingo. Dumbledore's jaw had dropped and he stared at her with wide eyes.

"How do you...? Why would I tell these stories to a girl of ... how old? Sixteen? Seventeen? You don't look older than any of my students."

"Why, I'm twenty-four I guess… I was seventeen when I got here seven years ago… although I have a few doubts… wait. That's not important now." Hermione took a shaky breath, "Look, I know, it's hard to believe, but someone must have tampered with a Time-Turner before forcing me to go on this journey. All I know is one moment I was on the verge of winning a battle and the next, someone from the opposite side was throwing me back in 1931."

"A battle?" Dumbledore frowned, "Oh, Merlin's beard, let's hear it, what year would you be from?"

"1998" Said Hermione without missing a beat, which might have been the reason Dumbledore seemed slightly less suspicious when he spoke again.

"Impossible." He whispered leaning back in his chair.

"Unlikely, I guess…" Hermione corrected, pointing at herself as to the ultimate proof that it wasn't impossible after all.

"This is... utterly absurd!"

"I know!"

"I have too many questions! Questions it would not be wise to answer Miss Granger... Oh, this… this is bad." Dumbledore looked around as if he expected someone to jump out of nowhere to reveal that all this was nothing but a hoax, "But, even if this story were true,"

"Which is," Hermione interrupted.

"Even if it were, why did you wait seven years to ask for help?"

"I thought that getting in touch with people I knew in my future would be dangerous, that it could mess things up too much. So, I hoped I could solve the Time-Turner mystery on my own."

"And then what happened?"

"It turned out I couldn't fix it. I don't even know where to begin with, not from Muggle London anyway. Which is why I was hoping you'd help me. You're quite famous already, well, it will come as no surprise, but you're a big shot in the future too..."

"That still doesn't explain the past seven years. I'm sure you realized long ago that you couldn't do much to get back to your time." Dumbledore wondered out loud, "Seven years is a long time, Mrs. Granger ... What were you sacrificing yourself for?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow in questioning expression, yet Hermione could see in his eyes that he had already found the answer to that question.

"Well, during the first few days I was here, I came across the orphanage." Hermione said exhaling loudly through her nose, "I let myself be distracted ..." she shrugged.

"Mrs. Granger, I'm trying to believe your stories, but if you keep lying we won't be able to work together." Dumbledore sighed, "Tell me about the boy."

"The boy?" Hermione's heart sank into her chest.

"He has something to do with your future ... you stayed hoping you could change something or make something go a certain way."

"No ... I… of course the fact that he was magical prompted me to finally get in touch with you, I had one more reason to, but that was it."

"Oh how convenient, Mrs. Granger!" Dumbledore snorted and Hermione blushed a deeper shade of red, as she realized her lies weren't working with him, "I should believe you were sent fifty years into the past and that, by pure chance, you ended up in the orphanage of a boy who probably descends from Salazar himself!"

"What? I don't know what you..." Hermione stammered, her head suddenly light and empty.

"Mrs. Hermione, if you know so much about me, I must hope you also know I'm not an idiot… he talks to snakes… do you know just how rare that is? I'm sure it won't take me too long to trace back his father and figure out who the mother is…"

Hermione pursed her lips.

"Yes, I came across a personality who will prove crucial to my future and I wondered if that was why I was sent here. For the past seven years I have been trying to figure out why here and why now..." Dumbledore nodded, finally satisfied with the answer apparently, "I tried to figure out what the person who sent me here was up to."

"And then the boy started having episodes of involuntary magic you could not handle and you decided to ignore your worries and contact me…?" Dumbledore finished with a smug note in his voice, like a child putting together all the pieces of a puzzle she was trying to hide the pieces of.

Hermione shook her head no and Dumbledore's gaze sharpened.

"Not exactly."

"So what happened? Why did you suddenly need help?"

"Since I arrived, Professor, I have tried to act on events, I know I was wrong, I am ashamed of it, but I certainly did not come from a rosy future. The temptation ..."

"Anyone in your position would have tried ..." Dumbledore admitted.

"Well, I've tried everything, even involuntarily at times, but it seems like whatever I do or don't do ..." The wizard's eyes widened for just a second there, but Hermione didn't notice while looking for the right words.

"Events continue to unfold exactly as you knew they would unfold, don't they?" Dumbledore finished for her, hitting the target this time.

"Precisely." She answered.

"My meeting with the boy?"

"It has happened in history as I knew it... I'm not sure whether it happened exactly the same but still." Dumbledore nodded and then looked up at the sky as if lost in his own thoughts.

"This conversation is the first real different thing in the events of my time, professor. This is change itself."

Dumbledore seemed on the verge of contradicting her, but then, his expression changed radically, as if he had suddenly changed his mind about how much of his thoughts he was willing to share.

Hermione frowned, but before she could think more of that, the older wizard spoke again.

"So you think you've just successfully changed the future?" Dumbledore asked calmly, picking one of the pumpkin pasties from the serving tray and nibbling at it.

Hermione couldn't help but notice how it was almost scary the way he had suddenly changed his whole demeanor.

She shrugged.

"I don't know at this point, but it was worth a try." The older wizard nodded briefly.

"Apart from our meeting per se, then, how can we work to help you, Mrs. Granger?"

"Do you believe me then?" Hermione asked with renewed hope.

"I can't say I won't do my investigations to confirm that Grindelwald is not related to you in any way, but I have a feeling that such an absurd story is hard to come up with..." said Dumbledore.

"Fair enough," Sniffled Hermione, "I was hoping we could work together on the Time-Turner that sent me back here, it might be possible to fix it somehow, or at least figure out the principles that made it work in the first place." Hermione suggested.

"You still have the original Time-Turner?" Dumbledore's eyes filled with renewed interest.

"It is broken to pieces, but yes, I kept most of it."

"Well that would be an excellent starting point, already."

"I'll owl you the broken pieces as soon as we get back then."

"About the boy…"

"I can't say any more than I have already said about him, professor."

"Fair enough." Murmured Dumbledore, quoting her, "May I suggest you get the boy out of that orphanage? I don't think it's the best option for him. He has way too much control over what should be involuntary magic."

"I'm already looking for a job closer to Diagon Alley, Professor, and for an apartment, but the prices for housing in London are really out of my league at the moment."

"Does it have to be London?" Dumbledore asked with a smirk. He widened his arms in a gesture that included their surroundings when Hermione looked at him questioningly, "I know Tomes and Scrolls is looking for a helper, we could drop by and talk to old Bert, see if he's still looking."

"Can we ?! Really?" The smile that spread across Hermione's face was so wide it almost hurt.

"My brother and I are not on very good terms, as you said earlier, but I know he took over a pub here in Hogsmeade years ago," said Dumbledore, biting into his second pastry.

"Sure ... The Hog's Head Inn" Hermione whispered, how come she hadn't thought of it before?

"I can't put in a good word for you," Dumbledore shrugged, "But it might help to know that Aberforth is a sucker for lost causes ... I'm sure he'll rent you a room for a ridiculous price if you can convince him. .. "

Hermione felt her heart swell, heartened by the fact that young-Dumbledore had finally felt more like old-Dumbledore than she had thought possible.

In fact, she felt so glad that their meeting had provided her with all she had been looking for and more, that she failed to notice how the man was easily taking the reins of hers and Tom's life ever so smoothly.

When Dumbledore dropped her off at the gates of the orphanage about an hour and a half later, Hermione threw herself across the courtyard and up the stairs to the front door, she flung herself into the house and rushed up the stairs.

She threw the door open so violently that Tom, still sitting on her bed, flinched in fright.

It wasn't until Hermione met his angry eyes that her enthusiasm subsided.

"Did you know I was different?" He said cutting to the chase.

"I ... yes, I knew." Tom's expression hardened.

"You knew it." He hissed the words.

"Yes, Tom." She admitted locking the door behind her.

"You, you weren't afraid of me, why?" he inquired.

"Well… because I'm different too, Tom. We're the same, you and I."

Hermione had imagined a burst of anger at that point. She braced herself for the worst. For years she had lied about her nature, she had kept the wizarding world out of Tom's knowledge ... his anger would have been logical.

To be honest, she had been preparing for about a year for the inevitable moment when he would accuse her of denying him the truth for so long.

However, to her surprise, the black clouds in Tom's eyes immediately dissipated and on his usually pouty lips slowly unfolded one of the widest smiles she had ever seen on his face.

"You are like me!" He nearly screamed as he jumped up on the bed and pointed a finger at her, clearly surprised that he hadn't considered that option earlier.

"Yes, Tom, I'm like you." Hermione confirmed smiling, infected by the euphoria on the boy's face.

"You are like me!" Tom repeated incredulously, "I ... I thought that ..." his voice choked on a lump in his throat and suddenly, tears began streaming down his face.

If Hermione was confused at that point, Tom was shocked, to say the least.

"Tom, my love, why are you crying?" Hermione asked moving a few steps towards him but stopping under his shocked gaze.

"I don't know ... I ... I thought you lied to me."

"Lied?" Hermione asked, getting a little closer, "Tom, I'm sorry I didn't explain everything to you sooner, I wasn't sure it was my job to tell you that ..."

"Not that," Tom sobbed, more and more visibly upset by his own absurd physical reaction, "You said we would be together forever. The two of us."

His voice choked again on the last words and he looked at her as if asking for help in dealing with the strange avalanche of feelings that was overwhelming him.

Hermione felt her heart tighten at the sight of the confusion on Tom's face.

"Did you think I promised to stay with you just because I knew you were going to live in another world eventually?"

Tom nodded, blushing slightly and trying to wipe away the tears with the back of his hands.

"But you ... you are like me ... so you knew ..."

"I knew we were going to leave together, Tom."

"We ... will we go away?"

Hermione nodded and approached until she was standing in front of him. She offered him a wider smile and his pupils visibly dilated.

"Will we go away, away from here, away from the others?"

"Yes, Tom, we will go far away, among our people, you will love it."

Tom stared at her in awe for a long moment, fat tears still swimming within the frame of his lashes.

"Do you want to talk about what Mr. Dumbledore told you, Tom?" Hermione asked brushing away a strand of stray hair from his sweaty forehead.

Tom bit the inside of his lower lip. He glanced to a wooden box laid on Hermione's desk, then seemed to decide he had more important things to talk about now and reached forward, sticking both his hands in her curls.

"Will we really go?"

"Yes, we will, Tom."

"Together."

"Yes, together."

"We're special, different from them."

"We are different, yes."

"We'll get away, far away from here, forever." Hermione giggled as a small smile curled his lips.

"Yes, Tom. As a matter of fact, I have already made arrangements for an apartment and I'll start working in a book shop soon!"

"An apartment… for the two of us?" He asked twirling her curls around his fingers with dreamy eyes.

Hermione nodded enthusiastically.

"Are you mad at me, Tom? Are you mad I didn't say something sooner?"

Tom leaned in closer and placed his forehead on her chin.

His hands left her curls to rest on her shoulders.

"Good people make mistakes." He whispered, "Just... don't lie to me, ever."

"No, Tom. Neither of us will lie anymore, ok? Do you want to talk about what…"

"Promise." Tom hid his nose under her neck, breathing in her scent.

"Promise… what? I said I won't lie…"

"We will be together, forever. Promise me." Hermione sighed.

"I promise." she lied, ignoring the pang of guilt in her belly.

"That old man... he took you from me today." Hermione felt somehow uncomfortable hearing those words, she tried leaning away from Tom to get a glimpse at his face but he hugged her closer making it impossible for her to move, "I don't like it."

"Tom?"

"I don't… I hate it."

"He helped us, Tom, Mr. Dumbledore helped us! You should be glad, he helped me find a job and a home for us, and he did bring me back, didn't he? Come on now, we have a lot to talk about!" She wriggled more firmly from the strange hug and successfully broke it.

Tom looked up through his long lashes with a skeptical frown, then in the blink of an eye he lost all trace of anguish and smiled.

Hermione smiled back at him, secretly wondering how could he manage to go from furious to happy, from relieved to sad to jealous, all in a matter of seconds.

That this child was capable of feeling the most disparate emotions, was clear to Hermione by now. She had repeatedly had proof of his ability to 'feel' over the years, and had slowly learned that no, Tom was not the ataraxic monster that she had expected would result from the use of Amortentia.

What she was noticing though, more than a lack of feelings, was a poor control over them.

It was as if Tom could not distinguish one feeling from the other when they showed up in more than one at a time, which gave him very little ground to understand how to deal with any of them.

The nervous breakdown he'd just had was evidence of some sort of alexithymia.

Somewhere in the back of Hermione's mind, the image of the crying Tom from last summer resurfaced and her smile wavered slightly.

That morning too… he'd been tired from the trip, nervous about the vacation, jealous of the man who had shown too much interest in Hermione, angry at Dennis…

"Tell me about this Wizarding World, will you? About our new home, and this Hogwarts place, the book shop, and…" And soon Hermione was torn from her train of thought and distracted by Tom's hundreds of questions.

Life in Scotland came like a breath of fresh air.

It was easy, carefree and quite happy.

The small apartment over the Hog's Head was small, but cozy and cheap.

Tom had been much calmer since they had left London, so peaceful and joyful that it had been easy for Hermione to forget all their previous problems and doubts.

Their days had quickly become a well-tried and placid routine.

Every morning Tom and Hermione would wake up giggling and smiling, they would spend some time cuddling, telling each other about their funny dreams and sipping their pumpkin juice, a drink Tom had surprisingly fallen in love with.

He had never been much of a sweet tooth before but, since he had landed in Honeydukes for the first time, his taste had radically changed, much to the despair of the dentist's blood in Hermione's veins.

Not a day went by without her finding chocolate frog wrappers hidden under the mattress or Treacle fudge empty boxes buried under the bathroom sink; Tom's pockets were bottomless pits of Fizzing Whizzbees, Fudge Flies and Salt Water Toffees.

He would constantly leave his Sugar Quills around the house and their sugary imprints were clearly visible on every piece of furniture in his range of action.

If Hermione had had to finance Tom's new sugar addiction, there wouldn't have been a job that would have paid enough.

Fortunately, Tom's disproportionate daily dose of treats was kindly sponsored by the attractive ladies who worked at Honeydukes, who were all quite eager to shower 'such a handsome little man' in chocolate and candy whenever he blinked his long black lashes at them.

Aberforth Dumbledore took care of the rest of their meals instead.

The man had been very reserved in the early days of their stay, but he had let himself be conquered by Tom's charm soon enough.

They had established a little routine skit that involved Aberforth complaining about Tom and Hermione always showing up in the kitchen when he was about to serve dinner or breakfast.

Tom would then embark on long monologues on the suspicious amount of fragrant delicacies in the man's kitchen, praising the chef for his marvelous cooking skills, often improvising little nursery rhymes to celebrate this or that dish.

Hermione would then pretend to drag Tom away from the delicious foods and towards some self-warming soup awaiting to be eaten straight from the can in their room.

Aberforth would theatrically sigh before inviting them to sit at his table, smiling to himself under his thick beard at the speed with which Tom would rush to his seat.

After the first month they could have probably avoided the skits and just sit at the table, which by now, was usually set for three anyway, but it had become their little game and no one seemed to want to give up the theatrics.

Hermione spent most of her time at work, sorting the books on the shelves, updating Bert's inventory, something he seemed to have neglected doing for the past two hundred years, and sifting through volumes that might be useful to her own research

She and Dumbledore had exchanged a few letters regarding their research, but unfortunately there hadn't been any significant breach yet. Time travel was a rather new field of research these days and written material on the subject was very little and very rare.

Tom for his part, spent his days in pure awe, embracing this new world, exploring Hogsmeade, dreaming of the day he would go to school, chatting with anyone who would give him a shred of time and mostly pestering Aberforth with questions while pretending to help out at the Inn.

Sometimes he would spend the morning behind the counter at Tomes and Scrolls, especially on weekends, when the village filled with students, and far too many boys flocked to the shop to peek at Bert's new young employee.

On days off, Hermione and Tom would visit Zonko's Joke Shop, Honeydukes, and The Three Broomsticks. They would read together, take long walks and sometimes go stare at the Shrieking Shack from afar, telling each other ghost stories and riddles.

Sometimes Hermione would tell very well-censored stories of her experience at Hogwarts and Tom would always listen carefully and then shower her with questions about this or that potion, about the houses of Hogwarts, about the duels at midnight, and was it true that there were mermaids in the lake? Have you really seen them? What was the story about the Bezoar again? Tell me the one with dragons!

With all that going on, winter had sneaked up on them in no time at all.

They had moved to Hogsmeade in September and in a heartbeat it had been Christmas; before they could have blinked, Hogmanay's day and Tom's birthday had come and gone and then Burns Night had followed.

On Father's Day, Tom had given Aberforth a courtesy box of Chocolate Cauldrons, a move that had stunned Hermione and officially made Aberforth the first man Tom was not hostile to.

The wizard had thanked Tom gruffly, then, halfway through dinner, he had retired to the backyard claiming he had to deal with some gnomes infesting the tool shed and had returned half an hour later with a wet beard and red-rimmed eyes.

In no time, spring filled Hogsmeade with pollen, bees, butterflies and wildflowers. The landscape shook off the shimmering blanket of snow and donned a dazzling green cloak.

It was then that Tom found himself missing London for the first time in his life and that Hermione found out that there was no magic to alleviate allergies. Not that she knew of at least.

She and Aberforth learned to endure Tom's angry howls as, in between sneezes, the boy took it out on the rest of the world.

He would also tear and kick anything that was green or had flowers, perhaps hoping to inflict equal frustration and annoyance on mother nature.

It was surprising to see that although Tom had become really annoying with his outbursts (made slightly ridiculous by his perpetually running nose), the closer the day of his departure to Hogwarts got, the sadder Aberforth turned.

Hermione could understand how the man felt, she was sure she would miss Tom dearly, she was also a little worried about him being away from her for the first time, under Dumbledore's sole supervision; however Hermione was also thrilled with the adventures that awaited him and she was looking forward to him going to school, which was the positive outlook that Aberforth lacked altogether.

The night before Hermione took Tom to Diagon Alley, Aberforth had been particularly grumpy, and if Hermione hadn't already had that conversation a million times she would have found the expression of childish pouting on the big bearded man's face quite funny.

"Isn't it early to go shopping for school supplies? School is still a month or two away..." Aberforth sniffled as he dropped a half-cow-sized steak on Tom's plate that night.

"We better go a little earlier, Abe, Dumbledore has already sent me the school funds for Tom's uniform and wand anyway... it's not like we're sending him to school earlier." sighed Hermione.

"Plus, I want to see Wizarding London." Said Tom, looking at the steak before him, undecided on how to deal with it.

"See? He wants to go. Can we use the floo then?" Hermione asked again, unable to offer advice on the steak and just shrugging at Tom's silent request for help.

"Of course you can use the floo, I just don't get it, what's the rush? I wouldn't be so ecstatic if I had to send my kid to my brother…" Aberforth grumbled as he glanced from Tom to the steak, recognizing just then that the whole boy probably weighed less than the one piece of meat.

"I want to be able to read my school books before I go to school... like Hermione used to do, right?" said Tom, stabbing a baked potato and biting into it, leaving the steak issues to the adults, "What's wrong with your brother, anyway?"

"Nothing is wrong, Tom, he wants his books, Abe, why are you fighting this?"

"If your Hermione was a know-it-all, boy, doesn't mean you have to be too..." Muttered Aberforth ignoring Hermione's question, "Not with that pretty face and sharp brain of yours, you'll get straight O's without having to open a book, believe me!"

"My Hermione?" Smirked Tom, glancing at Hermione, who rolled her eyes and glared at the older wizard.

Aberforth seemed to shrink slightly under Hermione's poisonous gaze.

"Don't listen to him, Tom, good looks are definitely not everything in life, your brain will prove much more useful." Hermione snorted, but Tom had lost interest in the conversation at the mention of 'His Hermione' and was now staring into space with a wry smile.

"It's just that ... I'm sure once you buy the books time will fly even faster! Don't come crying when he is in school and you feel alone ..." Aberforth whined.

There was a long silence then.

Hermione smiled at Aberforth with a knowing expression until he realized he was talking about himself more than about her and blushed slightly along the line of his beard.

Hermione diverted her gaze and her eyes fell back into Tom's plate.

"Abe, when you bought that steak, what were you thinking exactly?"

"Well to be honest, I bought it for myself..."

"Sure you did..." Hermione laughed sarcastically.

"Why… we don't know what they'll give him at that damn school! The boy has to grow up, he needs some meat!"

"Oh my, he'll be fully grown if he gets to a quarter of that monstrosity." Hermione laughed, Tom suddenly snapped back to reality and turned a worried glance at the meat on his plate. He didn't speak much after that and refused to swallow more than two forkfuls of the huge slice of cow.

Diagon Alley from the 1930s wasn't too different from what Hermione remembered from the 90s.

The street was noisy, crowded, and completely enveloped in the sweet aroma of hot waffles that came from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.

After a first half hour ransacking the shops for the best deals, Hermione had to yank Tom into a street corner and check that his jaw was not dislocated, as he seemed unable to hold it in place.

Perhaps she would have enjoyed Tom's wonder more if it hadn't been terribly nostalgic to be there without Ron and Harry at her side.

"This place ... has it always been here? Are we in London?" Tom asked for the umpteenth time as she briskly dragged him away from Flourish and Blotts' window, knowing that if he managed to get in there, she would have never been able to get him out.

"Yes we are in London, Tom, watch your steps! I'm so sorry... madam?" Hermione offered, smiling apologetically to an old Hag that Tom had nearly pushed off the sidewalk in an attempt to peek into a window.

"Where do you buy wands? Oh ... Hermione ... Hermione look! They sell brooms!"

Oh, hell no! Hermione had spent enough visits to Diagon Alley with her nose pressed against the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies, no, this guy wasn't going to be obsessed with Quidditch, not if she had a say in it.

It would have been scary enough to think that Tom could suddenly become a red-eyed snake-like monster, there was really no need to add the fear that he would break his neck every other day chasing flying balls, thank you very much.

"We're almost there, Tom, but if you'd rather stop here... I can go on my own, I bet Garrick will be happy to help me." She shrugged.

"Garrick?"

"The guy working at the shop." Hermione made sure to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"Oh" Tom gave one last glance at the crowd squirming before Quality Quidditch Supplies, then he quickly dragged Hermione away, oblivious to the smirk on her face, "I'll get lost if you leave me here anyway!"

Ollivander's shop was completely identical to the one in the future, it also smelled the same and Hermione felt a strange tingle in her belly as her eyes found the pale, hazy ones of a slightly younger Garrick Ollivander.

Hermione had dreaded this day, knowing that Tom Riddle's wand would be of paramount importance in the future. However, it wasn't as if Tom could go to school without a wand, nor could he use one that didn't choose him as its master, so there was very little she could do about it but watch fate unfold once again.

"Let me guess ... first wand?" Ollivander asked cheerfully as his measuring tape began buzzing around Tom before the boy could even confirm.

"Precisely, Mr. Ollivander." Hermione smiled and gestured for Tom to open his arms and let the tape do its job. He obeyed without taking his eyes off Garrick.

"What's your wand hand, Mr.?"

"Mr. Riddle and I'm left handed," Tom replied, whereupon the tape left Tom's right arm altogether to measure the left one instead.

"Mr. Riddle, hm? And this is your ... well she seems a little young to be your mother! Maybe your sister?" Garrick smiled kindly in Hermione's direction but it was Tom who answered.

"She is Mrs. Granger, and she is mine." He quietly announced, Garrick gave Hermione an amused smile as she returned it with an exasperated one.

"May I ask what wand do you have, Mrs. Granger? Where did you buy it?"

"Oh, mine is a 10¾" vine wood, with dragon heartstring core. " She replied, "I bought it… well here actually."

Garrick looked surprised as if he knew something was wrong.

"It sure sounds like one of ours." was all he said, hesitating before returning his focus on Tom, "Mr. Riddle, try this," he said producing a wand from one of the four boxes he had stacked on the counter as he spoke.

Tom looked at Hermione for confirmation and she nodded. His hands shook as he reached for the wand, Hermione felt excited for him, although she also knew, that wouldn't have been the right one.

The first wand was an olive wood one, with a dragon heartstring core, like Hermione's.

As expected, the wand did not react in the slightest to Tom's attempt to wave it and before he could even ask what was wrong, Ollivander had already snatched it from him.

"This then!"

Tom tried four wands more, none of which did it for him.

Ollivander was more and more intrigued and was now running between the shelves, pulling out more and more boxes, eager to solve the puzzle; Tom was growing less and less enthusiastic instead and was getting quite frustrated, Hermione was struggling over what to do.

She knew what the right wand would be… would it be ok to just cut the story short and say something?

At the eighth wand she couldn't take it anymore and, hating herself for it, she stopped Ollivander's umpteen trip to the back room.

"Mr. Ollivander, forgive me, I'm no expert but I have… well a hunch… wouldn't you have something in soft wood ... with a phoenix feather core maybe?"

Ollivander froze, he turned to Hermione with a confused frown, searching for a mystery in Hermione that she prayed he wouldn't find.

"Yeah ... as a matter of fact… I do have something like that." Said the man as he vanished under the counter. He resurfaced with two boxes and an indecipherable expression a moment later.

"Maybe my wand is not here… isn't there another shop?" Whispered Tom, but Hermione's focus was on Ollivander, the man was weighing the two boxes in his hands, undecided on which to open for Tom, then as if caught by a sudden thought, he placed them both before Hermione.

"Yew or Holly?" he asked instead of opening the boxes.

Hermione swallowed loudly through a knot that was tightening her throat. Harry's wand was in one of those two boxes.

She wanted to say holly so badly, if only to feel vaguely closer to Harry again.

"Yew." She said instead.

Half an hour later Hermione and Tom were sitting at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, behind a bowl of ice cream that might have fed a small village.

Neither of them had talked much after Ollivander. Hermione was still mulling over what had happened and Tom was lost in thought.

Hermione couldn't help but feel slightly shocked by the interaction with Ollivander. If she hadn't suggested which wand to try, would Tom still have found that one? Did Ollivander have another wand equally suitable for Tom or was it only a matter of time before the craftsman would have offered that wand to Tom? Had Hermione only speeded up the process?

She peered in the boy's direction and noticed the deep frown on his face.

"What's going on, Tom? Did we forget something?"

"Why doesn't anyone take me seriously when I say you're mine?" Tom snapped.

Hermione was caught off guard and didn't know what to say. She just stared at Tom, gasping with an expression halfway between amused and surprised.

Silly her, who thought he had been daydreaming of his leaving for school ... who would have thought he had such silly thoughts instead.

"What?" She finally asked, when she noticed he was very serious and was waiting for an answer.

"You heard me! Why don't people take me seriously when I say you're mine?"

Hermione had to fight not to laugh.

"Well, Tom, I would say the age difference could be one of the reasons, what do you think?"

Tom looked at her from head to toe, as if assessing just how much older than him she must have seemed to others.

"How many years will it take for me to be old enough?" He asked then returning to hold her amused gaze.

"Tom, that's not how it works!" Hermione laughed.

"How many years?"

"But you see, Tom ... the older you get, the older I'll get. By the time you're a charming and talented wizard, no one will want to believe you're with a witch as wrinkly and old as I will be!" Hermione joked.

"You won't be a wrinkly witch." Tom said gravely.

"Of course I will be, Tom, it's life and that's okay!"

Tom bit his lower lip and stirred some of the melted ice cream in their bowl before speaking again. Hermione wondered what he had just forbidden himself to say.

"So let's put it this way, let's say you'll always be like this, as you are today ..." He said.

"Which is impossible." Hermione smiled, but fell silent when he scolded her with a look.

"Let's say you'll always be like this, then in how many years?" Hermione rolled her eyes but when he hinted he wouldn't drop the subject she snorted.

"Oh come on, answer me."

"If I didn't age anymore, which is impossible," Hermione conceded with a note of exasperation, "Maybe in six or seven years, someone might even believe your nonsense!"

"Why do you say they are nonsense?" Tom frowned.

"Do you want a full list?" Tom snorted and looked away for a moment.

"You'll be mine, you wait and see. You already are, as much as I'm concerned." He moped.

"And I guess I don't get a say in this? What if I like blondes? Or redheads?" Hermione arched an eyebrow, Tom looked at her with a defiant expression, then he snorted loudly.

"In six or seven years I'll be so handsome and powerful, I'll totally sweep you off your feet, whether you like them blonde or bald!"

Hermione guffawed at those smug words, even Tom had to visibly struggle to hold his serious face.

"Laugh as much as you want, whoever laughs last laughs louder!" He smiled as Hermione doubled over with laughter.

"Oh, I'm sure you will be the most handsome wizard ever, Tom, but I'm also sure," Hermione said chortling still and wiping a tear, "That there will be so many witches in line for your affection, that you will be spoiled for choice!"

"I'm not listening to you ..." Tom yelled, covering his ears with his hands.

"Whatever!" Hermione shook her head in disbelief and took a spoonful of mostly melted ice cream.

"You wait for me, though." Said Tom after a while.

"Mh?"

"Don't get distracted with some loser while I'm not here, it's not fair! Give me a few more years."

"Tom, you're being ridiculous now…"

"Just… you just wait for me!"

"I can't help getting old! Besides, I love you already, it's a different kind of love, but when you grow up you will understand, my love."

Tom gave her a dirty look, Hermione offered an encouraging smile.

It was not uncommon for a male child to have such strong feelings for a maternal female figure and, in Tom's case, it was quite understandable that his attachment slightly exceeded the norm, as Hermione had not only been his mother figure but also his savior, his only company and... well his everything.

She was hoping that soon, with school and friends his age, those perhaps slightly morbid feelings Tom had for her, would finally dilute, that he'd learn how to dose his affections.

"You've avoided aging for years already, keep it up and in a few years I'll tell you what kind of love you will love me with, love of mine." Hermione laughed at the threat he tried to tread into his words despite the silly topic.

"Okay, whatever you say, Casanova Riddle, I'll make sure to be swept off my feet, now eat your ice cream and let's go home."

"And let's go home... what?" he asked, blinking theatrically.

"And let's go home, my love!" Hermione snorted amused. Tom smiled.

"Now if I were you, I'd eat that ice cream and I'd stop pushing my luck… love of mine!" said Hermione, blinking theatrically herself.

Hermione and Aberforth took Tom to London on 1 September 1938 so that he could board the Hogwarts Express with everyone else, despite the fact that Dumbledore had offered to pick him up in person in one of the carriages the school used for the students.

It was a Thursday, the air was getting cooler, the sky was leaden and far from the clear summer sky they had enjoyed in the previous months.

Neither of the three spoke much on the way to the station, but Tom held Hermione's hand all the way to the crowded platform 9 ¾.

Once they crossed the barrier, and once Tom got over his initial astonishment at the sight of the train and the throng of excited children preparing to leave, the little trio retreated to a corner of the platform to say their goodbyes.

"Are you ready?" Hermione asked as she dropped to one knee in front of him, adjusting his shirt collar.

Tom nodded, his expression tense, but clearly excited too.

"Will you be careful?"

"I will."

"And be good?"

"Yes, madam." He smiled.

"I'm serious, Tom!"

"Me too! I'll be good!" he crossed his heart.

"Good boy." Hermione, sniffled, "And write home… we will be waiting for your letters!"

"If you've changed your mind we can always go home ... that barn owl brother of mine has nothing to teach you more than we can teach you ..." Aberforth said, moping conspicuously.

"He'll be fine, Abe." Hissed Hermione before turning back level her gaze with Tom's, "You'll be fine." She repeated.

"What will you do while I'm away?" Tom asked leaning his forehead against Hermione's. She smiled, losing herself in the depths of those eyes for a moment. Oh she was going to miss that little brat.

"Aberforth and I will be pouting until you come back for the holidays, I guess."

Tom smiled and let go of the handle of his trunk to reach into Hermione's curls.

"You better cry once or twice too…" He said pouting mockingly.

"OH! All the time! I'll be heartbroken!"

"Now we're talking!" They laughed nervously.

"You think about me every now and then, okay?" Hermione whispered.

Tom's pupil shrunk and he studeid her face carefully.

"You wait for me." He ordered in a funny commanding tone.

Hermione nodded.

"Sure, we'll both wait for you, my love." He bit his lips.

"Call me that again." He whispered leaning in closer and hugging her.

Hermione laughed as she thought back to the conversation they had had in Hogsmeade a couple of months prior.

She leaned back and peered at his face grinning mischievously.

"You go now, love of mine, have fun and behave yourself!" Tom laughed out loud.

"I'll write you a thousand letters, love of mine!" he said dragging the words so they would be as gooey as possible.

"Are the two of you fools quite done?" Aberforth scoffed, secretly amused by their shenanigans.

Tom smirked slyly, kissed Hermione's cheek loudly and quickly hugged Aberforth.

He vanished in the crowd of students boarding the train seconds later.

"What a cheeky little monkey!" Laughed Hermione.

"He really is!" Laughed Aberforth.

"Oh, Merlin, what is wrong with me?" Gasped Hermione, weeping hysterically all of a sudden.

"It's ok, dear, you cry all you want." Whispered Aberforth, sniffling suspiciously himself.


	5. Liar, Liar, Pants on fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> just a quick note to tell you that with this chapter we're officially caught up with my writing!  
> I'm currently finishing up chapter 6 and I'll post is as soon as it's done (which should be sometime this week). 
> 
> I'll keep updating the story every 10/12 days after that!
> 
> That said, thank yuo so much for the amazing reviews! I love reading them and your feedback is just precious! Would it be annoying for me to reply to a few of your comments? I wonder...
> 
> Up until now I've been crossposting this story elsewhere too, and this chapter... oh... this chapter!!  
> Well, let's say, there are conflicting opinions about it... I'm curious to find out what the reaction will be here... Brace yourselves!  
> Here we go!  
> Love,  
> M.

**Chapter 5: Liar, liar, pants on fire…**

**Hermione had** never thought about what her parents must have felt when she had first left for Hogwarts.

She had made fun of them when sometimes they had complained about her taking too long to get back at their letters. She had called them clingy and over-apprehensive, she had played down their worries. She had even felt quite annoyed by their neediness and their 'pushy intrusiveness'.

Hermione, like every first year student at Hogwarts, had been caught up in the rhythms of the school, the interesting lessons and the wonders of a completely new and mysterious world and her parents had been the least of her thoughts when she'd walked through the doors of Hogwarts.

She'd almost been a little sad when she'd had to go home for the holidays that first year, the first year she'd had friends of her own.

In the first weeks of Tom's absence, Hermione had plenty of time to regret every time she'd ever ignored her parents. She had all the time in the world to be plagued by the guilt of that past life of hers.

What had shocked Hermione the most, had been coming face to face with a reality she had never really considered before. Until then in fact, she hadn't been aware of being as clingy with Tom as he was with her.

Until before Tom's departure, Hermione had even been a little impatient to see him get on the train. She had been looking forward to being able to devote herself to her research and to be able to have some time for herself again.

Yet the moment he had disappeared into the crowd of Platform 9 ¾ , her heart had filled with something haunting, heavy and dark.

Since the train had left the station, Hermione had had to deal with revelations she hadn't expected, such as the discovery of some form of jealousy towards Tom, a feeling stinging her guts every time he wrote home telling about new friends and adventures, or her physical need to have him nearby to get a few hours of sleep, somewhat surprising considering he was once the one who insisted on sleeping in her room despite her protests.

But there were also minor and equally stinging discoveries, such as how quiet their house could be, how big their bed was, how gloomy Hogsmeade was, or how much Tom was responsible for the scent of their apartment.

The Hog's Head itself had changed its scent now that Tom was no longer hiding his candy stashes everywhere.

Hermione couldn't help feeling that something essential was missing every time she and Aberforth sat down to breakfast or dinner and Aberforth's constant sighing did not help to quell that feeling of sadness, nor did the advance of winter and the subsequent shortening of the days.

It was only when the Christmas holidays finally came, that the Hog's Head and its inhabitants came back to life.

Aberforth decorated the entire facade of the inn with colored lights and even placed a huge Christmas tree in the main entrance when Tom informed them he'd be back for his winter break.

The night Tom landed at Hogsmeade station, sporting the colors of Slytherin and the satisfied face of the one who in a few months had gained his house the highest score in the House Cup ever registered, Aberforth served free drinks to the entire village and Hermione smiled so hard, her face was sore for days.

"So? Have I grown a little bit already?" He had asked her on the night of Christmas Eve.

"Sleep, Tom." Hermione had ordered, unable to hold back a smile at Tom's stubbornness as he had rubbed his eyes to fight off sleep.

"I know I'm growing up, you witch." he had insisted then, rolling his fingers in her hair idly, "You'll see."

Hermione had laughed at his words, but when Tom had finally succumbed to Morpheus's caresses, she had continued to study his moonlit face for a long time, determined to enjoy his childish features until she could. He had been so beautiful laying in his dark pool of silky-shiny curls and Hermione had tried to take in every detail of that face.

If only he could have been wrong, if only Tom could have stayed the sweetest and most beautiful child forever... the furthest thing from Voldemort anyone could ever have imagined.

But Tom's childish face was slowly and undeniably transforming already. His cheeks were already less round, he had lost most of his freckles and his jaw had become sharper.

Hermione had seen it happen in the past with Charles, Dennis, Billy and the other children at the orphanage, the signs of the impending change were all there although she wanted to deny them in this case more than ever.

The holidays, had lasted little and nothing, not enough to quell Hermione's visceral need to keep Tom as close as possible, not that she'd said anything out loud.

Before you could say Jack Robinson, they had been standing at the village train platform again. This time, Tom had boarded the train without too many heartbreaking farewells and very excited to go back to school instead.

Hermione and Aberforth had watched the train roll off the platform with long sad faces, still unsure on how to feel about the boy's enthusiasm for school. Neither had said a word on the way home nor for the following two days.

The remaining months of that year passed slowly. Hermione's days were long and lonely, except for Dumbledore's sporadic visits, which were far from relaxing and pleasant.

Hermione still wasn't sure she particularly liked this version of the professor and each one of the man's visits only left her more conflicted about it.

This Dumbledore was impatient, stubborn, and difficult to reason with. Every time Hermione came up with a theory about the Time-Turner, Dumbledore seemed to go on a life mission to prove her how wrong she was. This attitude of his, only got worse as rumors about Gellert Grindelwald's rise to power begun spreading all over Europe.

However, pleasant or not, Dumbledore's visits brought progress for their research, and those progress began to pay off early that spring. Finally, Hermione forgot a little about Tom's absence and found something to distract herself with while waiting for the Summer holidays to bring him back home.

"Paris, mh?" Tom had asked, kicking a bush of wild daisies one late Summer evening. Hermione had told him she would have left that autumn and quite predictably, he hadn't taken it too well.

"Paris." Hermione had confirmed, restoring the flowers to their place with a touch of her wand and frowning at Tom's annoyed glance.

"Why Paris?" He had asked, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand and pouting, which was slightly odd to see since he had grown up even more since the previous winter.

In fact, Tom had returned for the summer holidays at least half a foot taller.

Hermione and Aberforth had had to learn several tailoring spells to fix Tom's uniforms for the next year, they had done quite well, apart from the fact that in the process almost all of Tom's socks had turned bright purple due to a small miscalculation. Needless to say, Tom had thrown a such a tantrum that Hermione had eventually been forced to buy new ones, but she had kept the purple ones to herself despite Tom's scornful comments.

"There is a couple of Dumbledore's friends in Paris, they will be able to give me adequate education." Hermione had replied, hating herself for the little necessary white lie.

Tom had nodded then. If it was about study and education, he would hardly have disagreed.

"Well, of course ... you will have to be well educated." He had conceded thoughtfully, then he had bitten his bottom lip looking for the right words to ask the question he'd really wanted to ask, "This ... Flamel guy ..."

"Mh?" Hermione had asked, raising an amused eyebrow at Tom's worried expression.

"He couldn't possibly be a charming young wizard... right?"

"Mh, are you afraid of a little competition?" Hermione had joked. Tom had shrugged and bit his lip.

"You answer the question."

Hermione had refrained from making up stories just to see what Tom's reaction would be, she hadn't been that eager to find out any way.

"I think Nicolas Flamel was young about six hundred years ago, Tom ... but charming? Who knows… I guess for some he might still be charming!"

"Six hundred ?!" Tom had asked incredulously, immediately losing all the tension in his shoulders. "How is it possible?!"

Tom and Hermione had been inseparable that summer.

Both had wanted to make the most of their time not knowing when they would have seen each other again and when September had inevitably arrived, they had headed to London and onto the now familiar platform, dragging feet and hearts as heavy as lead.

Hermione hadn't wanted to ask Tom if he'd had the same feeling too, but something had told her that this was going to be their last truly carefree summer.

Crossing their hearts they had promised a pouting Aberforth they would have done their best to return to Hogsmeade for the Christmas break, then they had said goodbye, promising to see each other for sure next summer and to write each week until then.

Despite all their promises, as the Hogwarts Express had rolled off the platform that year, Hermione had felt as if on the edge of a very high cliff. Even though there were no real signs of catastrophic events on the horizon she had just known things wouldn't have been the same the next year.

But soon the preparations for her departure and the enthusiasm for all the study that awaited her distracted her from that sad thought.

And just like that a new phase of their life begun.

The house of Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel was probably among the oldest stone houses in Paris.

It would have looked like any other respectable ancient residence to the common passerby and if anyone had peeked into one of the countless two-story windows covering the building's three floors in neat rows, they would have seen nothing but large, elegant, deserted and stylishly furnished lounges.

However, if you had the opportunity to cross the threshold of that elegant mansion, you would find yourself before a very different landscape.

The interior of the Flamels' residence was an architectural nightmare.

To begin with, the rooms were neither sharply delineated nor fully subjected to the same laws of physics as the outside world.

A room that had been the kitchen in the morning could easily have become a potions laboratory by sunset; a door could lead to the living room until noon then suddenly decide to lead straight to one of the libraries until evening, or, why not, seal itself completely for a couple of weeks.

The floor you stood on could easily have become another room's ceiling by the next day.

And the stairs… the stairs were the icing on that cake of madness, and one of Hermione's biggest sources of frustration. The stairs at Hogwarts, which only rotated occasionally depending on their mood, were a breeze compared to these diabolical stairs.

Not only did the stairs have the freedom to disappear from where they were and reappear in a completely different location, forcing you to go around in circles for hours, they could also guide you to a completely different floor from the one you were hoping to land on.

The rule seemed to be that the more in a hurry one was to get somewhere, the more the stairs took pleasure in guiding that person in an entirely different direction, except for when it came to the bathroom, thankfully.

Perenelle insisted that the house was trying to teach its inhabitants the virtues of patience and composure. She argued that it was generally much quieter when it was just her and Nicolas as their spirits weren't fierce like young Hermione's anymore.

Hermione was convinced that the house was as much a raging mess as it ever was and that Nicolas and Perenelle were just too distracted to notice when they were alone.

She argued the house had simply saturated with the mental disorganization of its inhabitants who, however brilliant and ingenious alchemists, were not quite as orderly and methodical when it came to everyday life.

Nicolas could reveal the secrets of a new natural element and write an exhaustive book about it within a week, he could explain the whys and hows of complex and ancient historical events, he could teach you the most complex Defense Against the Dark Arts spells and read whole encyclopedias in days, but he wouldn't have known the first thing about how to make tea, let alone go grocery shopping!

He was as brilliant as he was messy. He would write his notes on anything he came across, including flyers, newspaper clippings and sometimes even himself, the latter being the only notes he managed not to lose.

Perenelle on her part, could have written a treatise on botany revolutionizing the world of modern science in a couple of hours, but if you asked her where her socks drawer was she couldn't answer, nor be sure she even had one.

Her nose was perpetually buried in a book and on the rare occasions when she wasn't reading or writing, she was most likely painting. Walls, floors, windows, even already framed paintings, everything sported some sing of her creative spurs. Too bad, she wasn't particularly good at painting.

Perenelle talked to her cats constantly (despite having no idea how all those cats had gotten there to begin with) while sometimes she would forget to talk to other human beings for days on end.

Beyond their lack of managerial skill and their crazy maddening home, Nicolas and Perenelle really were two extraordinarily interesting people.

Both were very cultured and very open-minded, there was not a topic they didn't know something about, and not a day went by without them having something to research, some thesis to prove or some phenomenon to theorize.

When a topic particularly fascinated them, they could forget to eat for days and sometimes, they would even get so entranced to forget to talk to each other, ending up days later on two completely different but equally exciting research paths.

Study, research and culture seemed to be the real engine of their lives and relationship, and the more Hermione was able to witness their relationship, the more she found herself dreaming of a partner who could offer her exactly what they had, except for the house… never that kind of house!

In retrospect, it wasn't surprising that Dumbledore had thought of involving the couple in solving the Time-Turner mystery.

During Tom's first school year, Hermione and Dumbledore had worked together on the Time-Turner and they had come to the conclusion that the marks along the edge of the Time-Turner, which Hermione had initially confused for scratches, were actually what remained of ancient runes.

They had also determined that the runes themselves would have to be powered by some form of magic, whether a curse, spell or blood magic.

After discarding the spell option, which would have required far more time and energy than Rookwood had had at the time, and after discarding the curse, which would have had to strike the first to touch the artifact with his bare hands, they had come to establish that it was blood magic they were after.

So they had had runes to put back together and a blood spell to track, but just then, it had occurred to them that if the hourglass had been meant to break to draw blood for the spell, then the sands had most likely been modified to work outside their container too.

At that point, the amount of work had clearly become too much for just the two of them, hence Dumbledore's idea of involving the Flamels.

It had taken a while for all the arrangements to be made but finally, Hermione had moved to Paris shortly after Tom had returned to school for his second year.

Predictably, despite their planning, Hermione hadn't been able to go to Scotland over the winter holidays and Tom had spent most of his at school, except for Christmas Eve, which he had spent with Aberforth.

Hermione had been a little jealous to know that the two had reunited without her, but said nothing about it, comforting herself with knowing that Tom had wanted to spend at least one day in Hogsmeade in what Aberforth kept calling their room, even though they hadn't lived there for months.

When Tom's birthday had come, the first one they hadn't spent together, Hermione had sent him a huge box of assorted chocolates, an interesting book on tropical plants and their uses in Herbology and a hideous fuchsia wool scarf she had knitted herself.

Tom had sent the scarf back twice, the third time he had sent her a pair of impeccably knitted gloves, with her initials embroidered on the cuffs, which he had obviously made himself to prove his point.

Hermione had laughed out loud at the sight of the gloves but she hadn't taken them off all winter.

She was just putting them on, wondering when Tom's next letter would arrive, when the door to her room swung open.

From Perenelle's bewildered gaze, Hermione sensed that the woman must have been looking for a completely different room, however the woman pulled herself together soon enough.

"Oh well!" She exclaimed in her pronounced French accent, "I guess I would have been looking for you shortly anyway!"

Hermione offered a smile and a questioning expression at the enthusiasm that was spreading over Perenelle's face.

"We've put the rune back together! Only one is missing now and Nicolas is already working on it! Want to join us downstairs ... or upstairs?" Perenelle added the last bit with a wary glance at the corridor behind her.

"Did you find it? What rune is it?" Hermione asked, quickly picking up her notebook and leafing through the pages until she found the one she was drawing the runes on, "It was the salamander, wasn't it? I knew it was the salamander!"

"Right! The salamander!" Perenelle confirmed, gesturing for Hermione to follow her out into the corridor, "You were right! The number six, or the salamander in this case, may be the rune that broke the time-turner's time limit!"

"Well of course it was! The mere presence of the number six on an item with a five hour limit must have caused some sort of variability, especially if paired with blood magic… oh this person was smart…!"

"Precisely! Nicolas has finally found the correct variation of the rune, it must be it, and it would confirm our theory."

"Does it have all of the five accents?" Hermione asked tucking some of her wild curls behind her ear and sticking her quill in it while turning her notebook upside down.

"All of them!"

"Which alphabet?" Hermione asked, hurrying to follow Perenelle down or up a flight of stairs, praying said stairs wouldn't suddenly decide to vanish.

"It was the ancient Norse alphabet this once, just as we first thought! We would have saved ourselves weeks of studying Hieroglyphs if we hadn't left the Norse for the Egyptian!" Sighed Perenelle, "Not that it wasn't fun..." She added.

"Here you are!" Nicolas exclaimed when the two women broke into the library where he and Perenelle had started working on the rune that morning.

Hermione noted bitterly that it wasn't the library she preferred, but was content to have taken less than five minutes to find Nicolas at least.

"Good morning!" She greeted, immediately taking a seat at the table on which Nicolas was perched among a ridiculous number of open books.

"Here it is! The culprit!" The man smiled enthusiastically, pointing to a microscopic rune at the foot of an ancient treatise on Magical Traductology and Interpretation of Norse Lost Languages.

"I knew it!" Hermione hissed as she quickly copied the rune to her notebook in a more acceptable format.

"Where are we at then?" Nicolas asked, pretending to look for some notes he clearly knew he had lost.

"We have two runes," Hermione summed up quickly, "which probably represent a date, the Lily of the Valley, which could stand for May, and Uruz, the number two." Which made sense considering that she had arrived in 1931 on May 2nd.

"Now we also have the Salamander, which would have helped in breaking the time limit... we are left with a single unknown rune."

"I still think this one was custom designed." Perenelle murmured touching the remains of the time-turner hanging from Hermione's neck.

The pendant with the words of L.M. was the only part of the puzzle Hermione hadn't shared with anyone, not even Dumbledore; it hung on Hermione's wrist on an anonymous-looking bracelet and she instinctively tucked it into her sleeve when Perenelle got slightly too close for comfort.

"Well that would pose a big problem..." Hermione sighed.

"Not that big either..." Said Perenelle cheerfully.

"You just have to guess what whoever sent you here wanted to achieve." smiled Nicolas.

"Or we could invent our own rune, oh wouldn't that be exciting, Nicolas?"

"Indeed, it would!"

Hermione stared at the elderly couple for a moment before shaking her head vigorously and returning to focus on the runes she had collected up to that point.

"No ... there must be some sort of logic. We have a when and a how… we need a why…" She whispered, staring at the runes as if the power of sight alone could somehow solve the puzzle.

"Well, now that we've found most of the runes, we should start building a prototype for the pendant." Perenelle announced, summoning parchment and quills.

"Can we do it here?" Hermione asked without taking her eyes off the runes.

"Not really, Nicolas managed to get the metal alloy right, but to melt it and shape it we would have to ask a Nott ... they are the ones who invented the initial prototype anyway."

"Nott, you say?" Hermione's head snapped up and her gaze bounced from Nicolas to Perenelle.

The only Nott Hermione knew of were Theodore, the angular and cruel boy of her time, and the one who was perhaps his father, Eurus Nott, who was currently one of Tom's classmates, and a probable future Death Eater.

"Cantankerus Nott, should be the head of the family now…?" Perenelle ventured a quick glance at her husband in search of confirmation.

"Nott ... could we avoid explaining the whole situation to him? He ... is related to someone Tom knows."

"Oh!" Perenelle exclaimed, vanishing the parchment she had already scribbled too many details on and summoning a new one, "Sure ... we can!"

"No news from Dumbledore yet?" Nicolas asked as he climbed from the table onto one of the huge bookcases and pulled down a series of dusty books.

"Nothing yet ..." Hermione confirmed, "I sent him the blood magic spell we talked about last week, but he still hasn't replied. Assuming the owl isn't just lost in this maze .. . "

"Oh nonsense, owls never get lost in here!" Perenelle laughed, but Hermione caught Nicolas's doubtful gaze and felt apprehension squeeze her guts.

"Your nephew?" She asked then, trying to cheer herself up by changing the subject.

"He never got lost here either ... except for that one time ... remember Nicolas? How long did it take us to find him?"

"More or less two days if I remember correctly." The man chuckled, swinging from one bookcase to jump to another.

"No, I mean, did he respond to your letters?"

"Oh yes! I could have sworn his letter was here somewhere ..." Perenelle took a look at her surroundings searching for the letter but soon gave up when she met Hermione's sarcastic expression. There wasn't a corner of that room that wasn't a complete mess of notes, pencils, pieces of canvases and scattered books.

Finding something in that chaos, even leaving out the fact that the house had a life of its own, was ridiculous to even consider.

"He should join us next week!" Perenelle said blushing slightly and returning to write her letter.

"He'll bring the sand with him!" Nicolas yelled from somewhere behind a shelf.

As expected from a good alchemist, Nicolas couldn't wait to move on to studying the Sands of Time.

Of course runes and blood magic had interested him and fascinated him all the same, but his favorite subject remained alchemy and the idea that he could soon get his hands on a completely new and never before seen Sand of Time, had thrilled him to no end since he had learned of its existence.

Not long after Hermione had moved in with the Flamels, a distant relative of the couple, Herbert Flamel, had found an unusual deposit of a particular Sand of Time during a trip to Romania, while looking for something else entirely ( some kind of bizarre bug to be included in Scamander's bestiary).

When the man had written to the couple, in hopes that they would host him so that they could conduct a thorough search on the peculiar Sand together, he had unknowingly kicked down an open door.

Both the Flamels, Hermione and Dumbledore had in fact, immediately agreed that it would be interesting to merge the two research fields, as such a coincidence seemed way too well-schemed by fate to be one.

Hermione though, had kept her expectations quite low, at least until now.

Many people in their right mind would not have believed a word of the story of a girl coming from as far into the future as 1998, plus, she had doubted Flamel's nephew would have shown up since his uncle had requested he'd swear to an Unbreakable Vow in case he decided to start working with them.

Apparently Hermione had underestimated Herbert Flamel's thirst for knowledge.

"Good!" She commented gleefully, before diving back into her notes.

It was almost too good to be true to think that pretty much everything was going well for once.

Sometimes Hermione worried that all these positive developments were just a red herring, a twist of fate, designed to have her let her guard down before striking with something horrible.

Anytime such thoughts would crowd her mind, she would be reminded of the odd feeling she had felt standing on Platform 9 ¾ that previous summer, when she had hugged Tom last.

Usually she simply awaited for these moments to pass, telling herself she had grown so used to life being miserable that she just had to get used to 'normal' again. She needed to stop with the negative attitude and start believing that maybe, all of her past efforts were simply, finally paying off.

"Owl, dear." Hermione shook herself from her thoughts.

"What?"

"Owl ..." Perenelle repeated with a gentle smile pointing to a large owl on the back of Hermione's chair.

"OH! Finally!" Hermione nearly knocked the bird off the chair snatching the letter from its paw, "Sorry ... here ..." she tried to make up for her behavior by offering the stern, and rather offended owl, a treat. The animal just gave her a scornful look and flew away without looking back.

"Oh well ... sorry!" Hermione yelled while tearing away the envelope without much grace.

"Your boy?" Nicolas asked laughing at Hermione's sweet expression as she recognized Tom's familiar handwriting.

"Yeah…" she confirmed.

"Has he solved our riddle yet?" Asked Perenelle trying to peek at the content of the letter.

Hermione smiled widely. He had. Of course he had. Her brilliant boy!

Herbert Flamel arrived at the Flamel residence on a rainy Monday in March.

Not that anyone had noticed.

The house had cheerfully welcomed the Flamels' descendant, without bothering to notify anyone of his arrival.

Herbert's presence was noticed only when the latter broke into one of the attics to find the Flamels and Hermione lying in the dust, surrounded by books and notes, studying by the light of their wands.

He told them that he had spent a good part of the day looking for the inhabitants of the house before finally finding them, while they explained to him that they had not been locked up in the attic for two days of their own choosing, rather, the house had thought it a just punishment to lock all the doors after a particularly malicious comment made by Hermione about the need to exorcise the stairs.

For some reason, perhaps because of the couple's venerable age, Hermione had expected Herbert Flamel to be a middle-aged man; in her mind, she had painted the image of a grizzled man with a round, jovial face and extravagant clothes. Something similar to a rejuvenated version of Nicolas himself.

The Herbert Flamel gawking at them from the trap door leading to the attic had been nowhere near what Hermione had expected.

For starters, the man was barely in his 30s, fully dressed in a three-piece suit that was tight enough to make his muscular shoulders and chest stand out. He had very clear green eyes, shielded by a pair of wide glasses and curly blond hair, disheveled to perfection. He had square large front teeth and a slightly crooked nose, which nevertheless made sense in that context.

Not the kind of middle-aged nerd Hermione had anticipated, at all.

Simply put: Herbert Flamel was handsome and liking him was ridiculously easy, especially if you were a Hermione Granger.

He was the perfect middle ground between a socially misfit nerd and an adventurous sexy explorer. Basically it seemed he had been tailor-made according to Hermione's tastes and thrown in the mix to spice things up a little, maybe get her mind off her dark thoughts a little.

And it worked.

The flirting between Hermione and Herbert was something immediate and inevitable.

They had kindred minds, compatible humor and they were also the youngest ones in the residence, which somehow forced their situation a little.

Hermione and Herbert's relationship always remained innocent and platonic, nothing that could have evolved into anything more than a slightly playful friendship, both because Hermione's experience in matter of men was confined to a kiss stolen from Ron in the middle of a battle more than ten years ago (which certainly hadn't given her enough ground and confidence to know how to deal with a grown man now) and because of Hermione's peculiar ageing situation, that Herbert just couldn't bring himself to overlook.

In fact, although Hermione had lived around nine years in the past and should have been around 25 or 26 by now, numerous tests with the Age Line had confirmed what she had been suspecting for a while already. Her body had stopped ageing at age 17, so, at least technically, she hadn't aged a day since the day she had arrived.

Herbert wasn't going to be the love of Hermione's life, nor anything even remotely close to that, but thanks to his presence, Hermione found that she could still enjoy the perks of some healthy male attention.

It was fun to study with Herbert, to listen to his tales and his adventures, to walk around Paris holding hands, to exchange pungent digs, to fake jealousy rants and to blush every now and then.

In short, it was nice for Hermione to be able to experience the more superficial and simpler aspect of life too.

Not just a matron, teacher, savior, not just the warrior and the mind of the trio, not only the responsible one... Hermione found out she could be just a girl every now and then too.

Although there was nothing really significant to say about her relationship with the man, Hermione still somehow failed to mention Herbert's existence to Tom.

When Herbert had arrived she hadn't immediately been able to invent a justification for the man's presence. After all, Tom didn't know about the Time-Turner study, so she definitely couldn't tell him about the Romanian Sands of Time.

A few weeks later, she had told herself that maybe she could've just told Tom about a Flamel relative coming to visit… yet every time she had been about to put Herbert's name on the parchment she had felt stung by some kind of silly feeling of guilt.

Such guilt wasn't entirely related to the fact that she knew how jealous Tom could be or how childishly he was still convinced that Hermione was somehow going to be the woman of his life. Those were concerns she would have easily dealt with.

Rather, Hermione was torn between two major worries.

On the one hand, she thought it wasn't fair to distract Tom from his studies and make him feel uncomfortable about a story that meant absolutely nothing (Merlin, she had never even kissed Herbert, nor she planned to).

On the other hand, there was 'something' biting deep inside her guts, a terror that made her irrationally think of the summer of the cave whenever she thought of putting Herbert's name in a letter.

That 'something' within the depths of her mind, a 'something' Hermione hated as it implied she still didn't trust Tom not to become Voldemort, suggested it would have been better to talk to Tom in person, at home, when he wouldn't have had a whole school full of minors to vent his frustrations on, just like he had done with Dennis and Amy in the past.

Perhaps, it was because of this second concern that in the end, Hermione opted to keep silent on the matter, especially since summer was near again, and she would soon be back in Scotland anyway.

If Hermione could have predicted that someone else would have benefited from Tom's frustration, she would have done otherwise.

 **Tom** **glanced** at the large clock on the wall, sadly confirming that it was not nearly dinner time yet.

The librarian, sitting right under the clock, gave him a fleeting smile before returning to scribble something on the parchment in front of her and Tom sighed.

He rubbed his eyes and stared back at his essay on the International Warlock Convention of 1289, wondering if there was a more boring subject than History of Magic. Probably not.

"I still don't understand the link between the Convention and the Medieval Assembly of European Wizards..." Nott murmured, banging his forehead on the solid oak table and groaning softly.

"The what, what?" asked Lestrange, peering at Nott's scrolls with a confused expression.

"I have a feeling we'll never be done with this fucking essay…" moped Mulciber, "Can't we just copy from you, Riddle?"

Tom rolled his eyes and snorted.

"If I'd let you copy you wouldn't learn anything and I'd find myself surrounded by idiots ..." He glanced at Lestrange, scribbling doodles on his essay, "Not that I have too high expectations ..." he added.

Nott smiled and stretched in his chair.

"I'm going to look for more material... there's no way this is all there is on the subject" said the dark haired boy gesturing to the four books scattered on the table.

"Leave it," Tom said as he stood up and stretched his limbs, "I could use a walk, I'll go."

Tom liked libraries.

Hermione had told him so much about Hogwarts' library that somehow, walking around those shelves, he had the feeling that she was always around the corner.

The description she had given him of every aisle was so accurate that it seemed she had spent most of her school years locked in there, which was probably quite accurate, considering she could still quote entire paragraphs from Tom's school books without even opening them.

Tom was so lost in his thoughts about Hermione and how much he missed home that he winced slightly when, turning yet another corner, he found himself in front of the imposing figure of Dumbledore.

He immediately stiffened and schooled his expression into a totally blank one.

There was something about the Transfiguration professor he had never liked. Whatever Hermione said, Tom always had the feeling that this man was not to be trusted.

Dumbledore had always given him a vibe that, though remotely, reminded Tom of Mr. Wool and he often found himself wishing Hermione would come and crush this man to obedience too.

"Professor," Tom greeted, bowing his head only slightly so he wouldn't have to lose eye contact with the professor.

"Mr. Riddle, on the hunt for a good book?" Dumbledore asked as he stopped scrolling through the volumes in the opposite aisle.

"In a way, Professor." Tom sighed, "I'm looking for something to help me and my classmates complete a History of Magic essay."

"Oh, let me guess, boy ... The 1289 Convention?"

"Precisely, sir."

"Binns has no imagination ... the same essay every year. When should you turn it in?" Dumbledore took a few steps in Tom's direction and leaned against a table. Tom subconsciously took a few steps to the side instead, leaning his back against a shelf and putting distance between himself and the professor.

"By Friday, sir."

Dumbledore nodded imperceptibly without taking his eyes off Tom.

For a moment Tom had the feeling that the man was measuring the space between them and the thought made his skin crawl.

"I'm sure Miss Granger would have a lot to teach you about the subject." Dumbledore suggested when he finally managed to snap out of his mysterious thoughts.

Tom felt the muscles on his back tighten at the mention of Hermione but he held onto his indifferent mask as best as he could.

"Unfortunately, Professor, Mrs. Granger is still in Paris and sending an owl would take way too long. I'm sure you are right though, she always knows best." He agreed.

Dumbledore nodded absentmindedly again.

Ah what Tom wouldn't have given to know just what the hell the man always seemed to be calculating. It was really annoying and unnerving the way the professor would quietly let him glimpse at the spinning gears of his brain denying him the knowledge of what they were processing.

"It's a shame you couldn't visit her," Said Dumbledore finally breaking the odd silence.

Tom raised an eyebrow involuntarily giving up his blank expression.

Dumbledore seemed to enjoy the sight of the surfacing annoyance and jealousy, because his lips curled in something more similar to a devilish grin than a smile.

"I bet you would have loved to meet Nicolas, Perenelle and Herbert... the Flamels are a very interesting family. I'm sure Mrs. Granger will come home even wiser than before."

If Tom had been less young and naive, he might have desisted from falling into Dumbledore's obvious trap, but he, unfortunately, wasn't. Repressing the need to gag he clenched his jaw.

"I'm sorry, sir, did you say Herbert Flamel?" He asked in the most neutral voice he could manage, as he tried to restrain the sudden rush of his heartbeat, already pumping liquid rage through his veins.

"Oh yes! Herbert, a very bright young man... worthy heir to a very important family, if you ask me." Dumbledore left the table and took a couple of steps forward, stopping to collect a small book from one of the shelves.

"Oh, but don't let me interrupt your search, Riddle, your classmates will be waiting for you."

"Classmates?" Tom asked blinking stupidly. He had suddenly lost the power to form a coherent thought as his mind kept spinning around the words 'Herbert' 'young' 'bright' and 'important family' blindly.

Dumbledore smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes, and Tom realized the man had stepped even closer only when he felt his own shoulders press against the bookcase behind his back.

He forced himself to focus on the older wizard and noticed the professor was now holding out a volume for him to take.

"I'm sure this book will help you with your essay, maybe you will even find some notes from past students in it... it's one of the most popular when it comes to Binns essays!" Said Dumbledore waving the book when Tom made to move to grab it.

"T ... Thank you, sir." Tom said snapping back to reality and snatching the volume quickly from the professor hands, if only to get the man to back out from his personal space.

Dumbledore did not take the step back that Tom had hoped for, instead, as soon as the boy closed his hands on the dusty cover of the book, the wizard came even closer, all the while reaching into the large sleeve of his robe and producing another volume.

Tom had to strain himself to keep his focus.

She wouldn't have hidden something from him, right? Hermione… she wasn't a liar. Was Dumbledore bluffing? Why? And why the fuck was he still so close?

Tom wished he had fangs, long poisonous fangs. He wished he could be threatening and scary, enough to get that old man to just step away and leave some room for him to breathe. His thoughts started blending all together and every time he blinked he could see Mr. Wool unfastening his belt with a grin.

He knew it was a stupid thought, but part of him promised if Dumbledore as much as tried touching him right now, he would have just jumped him and torn his throat open with his bare hands.

Blinding and angry thoughts snarled in his mind, feelings he had forgotten about years ago. Damn, he had never been good with anger management nor with other men…

"Have you ever read this, Riddle?" The professor asked in a carelessly innocent tone that managed to wear down Tom's nerves even more if possible.

"Hogwarts, a history? No, sir. I don't think I've read it." Tom spat through clenched teeth. Dumbledore's clear eyes lingered in his for way longer than necessary.

"I think you might find it interesting, Riddle."

"For the ... for the essay, professor?"

"Oh ... well yes maybe even for that. It's a fascinating book, it might surprise you. Among Miss Granger's favorites I believe."

Just hearing Hermione's name again, caused Tom to lose his hard-earned mental balance again and anger began to run over him like a raging river.

He had to physically shake his head, clouded by the hiss of words like 'liar', 'traitor', 'cheater', to be able to go back to staring at the professor.

"Professor, I don't think I've ever heard Mrs. Granger talk about this book." Tom said accepting the weight of the second volume as Dumbledore placed it on the previous one.

"In that case," said Dumbledore finally moving to a more comfortable distance, "I hope I haven't revealed a secret of hers!" With those last words, Dumbledore walked away between the shelves without even turning to say goodbye.

As the wizard disappeared from his sight, Tom heard an angry rattle finally erupt from his throat and dropped the two volumes at once.

Too overcome with anger, and shaken by the tension of the unwanted proximity of that man, Tom slumped on a shelf gasping for air, taking mouthfuls of oxygen and trying to stifle the anger that was about to burn him alive.

His magic creaked and crunched shamelessly around him. The books on the shelves closest to him sizzled as if someone was frying their pages in melted butter.

Who the fuck is Herbert? Cheater! Liar! Fucking… bitch… what the? Dumbledore… he had schemed for this… he should've paid… that bitch… what else had she hidden?!

Tom's mind started running wild, there were angry voices hissing within it and in a matter of seconds he couldn't figure out who he was even angry at anymore, he was just seething, unable to hold back the consuming feeling.

"Are you all right, Riddle?" Tom's head snapped in the direction of the voice.

Nott was watching him worriedly from the back of the aisle.

It took another second but then Tom managed to pull himself together.

"All right," He said stiffly, "I just tripped and dropped my books."

"Sure ..." Nott murmured approaching cautiously and ogling the frying books on the shelves with a frightened gaze, "Can I get them for you?"

"There's no need." Tom snarled arresting Nott's progress at once, "I'm not a fucking weakling."

"Of course, sorry mate."

Tom reached down to collect the books and his eyes fell on the volume of Hogwarts, a History, which in the fall had apparently opened up to a random chapter.

"Chapter XIII - The Chamber of Secrets" Tom involuntarily read aloud, tilting his head in curiosity, "What ... kind of a book is this?"

"Did you say something, Riddle?" Nott was now standing beside him.

"No ... no nothing, let's go back I found something."

 **In the month before her departure for Scotland** , Hermione hadn't given much thought to Tom's silence.

She knew he was busy with his last exams and she herself had been completely absorbed in the results of her own research.

Nott had agreed to produce three prototypes for a Time-Turner, the Romanian Sand had turned out to be a substance worthy of interest and although Hermione and Herbert had not deciphered the last rune, they had tracked down an ancient treatise that could have helped them in that sense. Herbert had left for Alexandria precisely to retrieve the ancient manuscript, and everything seemed to be going well.

Progress also came from Dumbledore's front, albeit ridiculously censored in his latest letters, a problem Hermione promised to address by confronting the man in person over the summer.

When July finally arrived, Hermione set sail for Scotland filled with excitement and anticipation.

She hadn't seen Tom and Aberforth for a whole year and by the time she arrived in Hogsmeade, her heart was so erratic that she feared having a heart attack before even making it to the Hog's Head.

She ran down the alley leading to the house at record speed, turning several heads in her direction and laughing as she heard the Honeydukes' girls cheering for her from the shop window.

Hermione threw the inn's door open with such enthusiasm that it nearly came off its hinges.

"Hermione!"

"Abe!" Hermione leapt into the wizard's arms and let him twirl her around happily, under the astonished gaze of those who knew how grumpy Aberforth normally was.

"Oh! You've lost weight too! You and that boy ... didn't they have food in France?"

"Don't be silly, Abe! I haven't changed a bit!"

"Haven't changed my arse!" Aberforth thundered, deaf to Hermione's amused protests, "Thank goodness you're here now, I'll fix you up in no time!"

"Tell me you made apple pie!"

"I made apple pieS, as in several of them!"

Hermione smiled broadly then her eyes scanned the room again and Aberforth finally let her go.

"Where is he?" Hermione asked with her heart pounding with excitement.

"Oh ... he's ... Hermione I should warn you ..."

"Come on, Abe! Please, I'm dying! I have to see him!"

"Yes, he's upstairs, but ..."

But Hermione didn't let Aberforth get to the end of the sentence, she let out a little shriek and rushed towards the stairs, climbing them two steps at a time.

"Tom? I'm home!" She threw open the door to their former room but the room was deserted. Everything was exactly as they had left it a year ago, but there was no sign of Tom.

"Tom?" Hermione's voice trailed off and she lost some of the excitement in favor of genuine concern.

The bathroom door was open and that room was also empty.

Hermione spun around and then returned to peer out into the hallway of the inn just as the door to one of the other rooms, the ones that Aberforth generally rented to travelers, opened.

The boy who stood in front of her was almost as tall as her and his face was so similar to the face he would have had as an adult that Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Mulciber."

The boy froze staring at her with a curious expression, but before Hermione could say more her attention slid onto the boy standing behind Mulciber and her jaw could easily have come off completely at that point.

If it weren't for those eyes, gray as snow and stained with the deepest puddles of blue ocean, she would have had a hard time recognizing him.

"Tom?" Hermione heard herself ask stupidly as her eyes took in the transformation.

Tom had grown tall, much taller than when he had left a year ago, taller than her by a few inches for sure.

He wore a plain white T-shirt with sleeves rolled up to the shoulders and high-waisted jeans. The shirt showed some of his ancient scars, but if once he had been meticulous in hiding them, they didn't seem to bother him now.

"Do you know her?" Asked a third guy who was peeking at Hermione from behind Tom.

Tom's lips, well centered in a sharp, regular jaw, curled into a smirk but he didn't respond. Instead, he kept his cold gaze onto Hermione's visibly surprised one.

Hermione, shook herself from her numbness, pushed Mulciber out of her way and into the hallway and pulled Tom down into a bone-breaking hug.

His smell was familiar and warm, Tom smelled of Marseille soap, mint and dark chocolate, only his smell was more intense now, perhaps due to hormones. She took it in in big gulps, as if to make up for the long time she hadn't been able to.

What was truly astonishing was how tall and wide he had gotten. Where was the 5 year-old she had met only yesterday? Hermione felt tears prick her eyes and sniffled against his neck.

"Tom!" She whispered again, "Oh! I missed you so much!"

It was only then that she realized that Tom was stiff in her arms.

He wasn't returning the hug, he was just standing there, cold and distant, while she was squeezing him under the vaguely confused gaze of his friends.

Hermione released him as if she had suddenly caught fire and stepped back, still unable to cope with the fact that to look Tom in the face, she had to look up.

"Leave." It was the first word Tom said. His voice had morphed too. How odd.

Hermione gasped at how quickly his friends vanished down the hall as soon as he turned to glance at them, indicating it was them he was talking to.

An alarm bell went off in Hermione's mind at the sight of Tom's schoolmates acting exactly like the minions they would be in the future but she forced herself to ignore it.

"Look at you! All grown up! How tall are you?!" She asked venturing a smile.

Tom kept silently watching her, looking for something in her eyes.

"Tom? What's going on? Why don't you talk to me?" Hermione reached out to brush aside a lock of hair falling on Tom's temple in a wild curl but he pulled his face away from her touch and, at that gesture, Hermione felt a knot tightening in her throat.

She searched his eyes for a clue as to the reason for that strange behavior but Tom was impossible to crack, as if hermetically sealed from the world.

Hermione's heart sank into her chest and she had to cough to recover her voice.

"Did your friends rent the room?" Hermione asked looking around and noticing several school trunks along the entrance wall and two cages with two large sleeping eagle owls, "Will they spend a few days with us?"

"Us?" Tom asked, tilting his head to the side. A cascade of soft black curls followed the movement as he did, and Hermione was bewitched by the multitude of details about him that she hadn't even known she'd been missing until now.

From the way he talked, moving his lower lip more than the top one, baring at times a row of perfect lower teeth in the process, to the funny way his curls moved with him when it was summer and he left them natural.

Why was he so cold and distant when she just wanted to hug him and be told every detail of the last month of school? When all she wanted was looking at the full range of his expressions and smiles?

"With us ... did I say something wrong?" She asked trying to get a few steps closer, but Tom took a couple back until his back touched the wall, then he looked down at his feet, biting his lower lip from the inside.

"Nott's mum rented the room for us for the summer." He informed her after a while, glancing at her from under his long dark lashes.

"Oh…" That was all she could say, taken aback by the icy distance Tom was putting between them.

Sure Hermione remembered how heartbreaking and difficult it could be to deal with teenagers, but maybe she was out of practice, or maybe she just hadn't expected Tom to follow into the usual pattern given their close relationship, anyhow, this time she found herself unable to react properly, overwhelmed by a sudden sense of sadness and bitterness.

"Well, see you around, then." He said suddenly pushing himself off the wall and moving towards the door. Hermione moved faster and grabbed his wrist stopping him.

She felt Tom stiffen under her touch but she did not let go.

"Tom… what's wrong?"

"Let go."

"Tom, just tell me. What is it?"

"Let go of me, now."

"Please, I don't…"

But Tom snapped before she got to the end of the sentence.

With a fluid gesture, he twisted his wrist between her fingers and grabbed hers, then used his new physical strength to push her back and against the wall he had been leaning on moments earlier.

Hermione gasped in confusion, the air was knocked out of her lungs when her back hit the wall and she blinked rapidly, unable to really understand what was happening.

Tom's face was fleetingly illuminated by the same expression he had had when he had found out he could physically overwhelm Dennis and Hermione shivered.

"I said, don't touch me, you liar."

"Liar ... what? Tom? What?" Hermione's stomach became an ice block. Tom's anger flared behind his eyes.

"Aren't you a liar, then?"

"I ... what are you talking about? What?"

"You didn't lie to me? Tell me, Hermione, am I wrong? If I'm wrong, I'll apologize." Something wild curled his lips into a smile that wasn't genuine at all. Hermione's heart churned in her ribcage, something crushed her lower abdomen and she gasped for air, air she couldn't guide into her lungs crushed as she was, between an unknown side of Tom and the wall.

"I ... Tom? Why are you doing this? Can we talk?"

"Answer me." His voice had grown low and dangerous, the words hissed between his clenched teeth, "Who is Herbert, Hermione?"

Black dots began to dance in Hermione's field of vision and she placed some of her weight in Tom's hands, which still held her pressed against the wall. His expression did not waver slightly.

"Nobody, Tom, it's not ... that's exactly why I didn't tell you ..." she finally managed to spit, placing her hands against his chest to push him away. He let her and took a step back.

"You disgust me, you liar." He snarled.

"What the hell is wrong with you!? What's with the anger? We haven't seen each other for ages! I would have talked to you about it if you'd given me a chance!"

"I don't care, I'm not going to spend my time with a liar, I have better things to do."

"Tom!" Hermione almost screamed this time, stopping him from moving towards the door.

Perhaps the wisest thing would have been to let him go, there was no way he could stay angry forever, yet Hermione could not be lucid or wise at that moment. She was angry, she was offended, she was mortified, and disappointed in herself, she was scared to death that she had pushed him too far from her, she was confused about how he knew about Herbert in the first place, she was afraid she didn't know this Tom well enough.

He turned to stare at her again, his jaw clenched so tight he could have chipped his teeth applying just a little more pressure.

"Don't ... don't do that. Don't get away from me. I didn't mean to hide anything from you, there was nothing to hide. Ask me anything, I'll answer any question. We can talk."

"I do not care."

"Please ... I ... Tom ..." Hermione's struggle with her own tears was lost and they streamed down her cheeks regardless of her attempt to stop the flow.

"Did you fuck him?"

"WHAT?!"

"Oh, you heard me." Tom retraced his steps until he towered over her again, his anger was almost palpable, a warm aura enveloping him.

"What ?! NO! NO! Not that I owed you any explanation even if I did!"

A those words he came so close and so fast that Hermione flinched backwards holding her hands up, fearing he would strike her. He didn't.

"Tom! You're stepping over the line! Yes, I lied to you and I apologize, I didn't want you to be anxious knowing there was another man in the house I was in, but even if I was interested in that man , which I'm not, Tom, you're not my boyfriend! When will you understand? It is not your place to decide what I do with my life! "

"So what am I?"

"I ... what?"

"WHAT AM I TO YOU?!" He roared.

"You ... are ... Tom ... we are a family ... you are ..."

"You are mine." he hissed, "Is that clear?"

"You can't decide on your own! You're just a boy, Tom!"

"Shut up." He hissed.

"You're just a child, Tom, I'm sorry but you are and you just don't see certain things but soon…"

"A child? Do you have eyes on that pretty liar face of yours?" Tom scoffed, looking down at himself as if to prove a point.

"So you've gotten tall, now what? If you want me to see you as anything more than just a child, then stop acting like one!"

"I'll give you the child." He laughed devilishly, his sharp grey eyes stabbing through hers.

Hermione's eyes widened when one of his hands landed around her neck, she parted her lips to protest but the next thing she knew, was his face was closer than it had ever been.

Before she could say a single world, full warm needy lips landed on hers, sealing her mouth shut.

"Mhf… No!" she fought him, trying to push him away but Tom only pressed harder against her. The more she fought back, the more his unwelcomed kiss turned demanding and harsh.

He bit her lips forcing her to open up and his warm tongue assaulted her mouth.

Hemione pushed against his chest with renewed vigor but her struggle was useless against his newfound strength.

His spit tasted sweet, like chocolate, and it was minty like him, Hermione hated herself for noticing such a thing. She gagged, disgusted at the whole situation, disgusted by him and by herself.

Tom broke the kiss when he felt like it, leaving Hermione gasping for air and blushing wildly in anger. Her hand lifted automatically and she aimed for his face, but he caught her wrist and twisted it painfully.

"You lie to me again…" he warned, tightening his grip, "You lie to me again, Hermione, and you'll see."

Tom left the room without saying anything else, without them having really cleared up anything. Hermione slid against the wall and onto the ground and cried every tear she could produce until she was too tired to even think, too broken.

She went back to their former room and dropped onto the bed, unable to move, unable to process what had just happened. A poisonous little voice in her head whispered that she should have paid more attention to the presentiment she had had the previous summer.

She did not show up for dinner, nor did she answer when Aberforth knocked on her door. She heard Tom and his friends retire to their room late at night, and shivered at the idea that he could enter the room. He didn't.

Hermione tossed and turned in bed all night, blaming herself for everything.

If only she hadn't lied, if only she had pulled out her wand, if only she had returned for the Christmas holidays, if only she had resigned herself to the idea of staying in the past, if only she had contented herself with sacrificing herself for good , if only she had focused on the Voldemort issue.

And now Tom was lost and she had no idea how to get him back on track. She had no idea where these events would lead, if she hadn't created Voldemort she'd still created something… wrong… was it her fault? It had to be ...

It was only at the first light of dawn, when the darkness of the night cleared, that a new realization entered the chaos of her mind. A thought that slowly began to take over everything else.

Who was the only other person Tom could've learned about Herbert Flamel from? And why would Dumbledore have felt the need to talk to Tom about Herbert? How could he have known Tom didn't know about Herbert… was Dumbledore reading their mail?

Those thoughts took Hermione's mind away from the matter of Tom's kiss and her own guilt for a moment, and she jumped to her feet before the clock even struck six.

She took a piece of parchment, locked the door, and went to sit at the desk.

She drew a long line on the parchment and marked Tom's date of birth at one end of it.

She added the year she arrived shortly thereafter, 1931, the year the cave accident happened right after, then the year they left London and the year Tom started school. She scribbled down the current year, 1940, and the following year with the inscription 'third year'.

Hermione stared at the rest of the line she had drawn, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and plunged into her own memories looking for the detail that might solve the puzzle. She might have been horrible at raising children, but when it came to reasoning, she had always been good enough, hadn't she?

_Harry smiled at her from the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall of her mind, Ron beside him looked at her with eyes full of love._

A tear, the last that Hermione still possessed, ran down her cheek and she let out a shaky breath.

 _"I don't think I will see you again."_ She murmured.

_"We love you."_

_"Do not give up."_

Hermione looked at the parchment with a sniff and scribbled down a few more dates, mostly significant events from her timeline.

What was it Dumbledore might have wanted? Why was he trying to get Tom to hate her? She had to find out, and in order to do so, she had to look at things from up close… closer.

"Oh, hell, I'm not letting you slip right now, Tom ... this is going down the way I want it to, and you better brace yourself." She hissed as she pulled two clean pieces of parchments from a drawer.

The first letter went to the Flamels, informing them that she would continue to participate in the search from afar, as a small problem that required her attention had arisen in Scotland.

The second letter contained far fewer words. It was aimed at Dumbledore and in it, Hermione suggested that Dumbledore ask Dippet for an assistant for the Transfiguration Chair, either that or the Prophet would have had a hell of a story to tell.

Aberforth barely allowed himself to look at Hermione when she stormed out of the Inn to go to the public owlery. He flinched when upon her return, Hermione addressed him with a new fire blazing behind her eyes.

"Where the hell is that boy?" She asked downing a shot of Firewhiskey Aberforth had meant to serve to another customer.

"Hermione ... please don't fight, you know, it's just a difficult age and ..."

"Abe. We won't fight. Where is he?"

"The boys… they are in the back..." he conceded then defeated.

Hermione drew her wand under the frightened eyes of those sitting at the bar drinking, she nodded, took a deep breath and marched towards the back door.

"Wait!" She heard Aberforth yell worriedly.

 **The door flew open** and the three boys sitting in the tall grass whirled in its direction with allarmed expressions.

The first two jinxes hit the targets before they could even realize Hermione was armed.

Tom's eyes widened at the sight of Nott dancing away towards the path leading to the main road and his jaw dropped as Mulciber's head was encased in a pumpkin and the boy got knocked off his feet seconds later.

He turned back to Hermione who was advancing inexorably towards him, her wand held high in front of her.

Her hair swirled and creaked with magic and her eyes were wild and filled with a new resolution.

In the blink of an eye Tom was five years old again and before him, he saw the warrior girl again, ready to deliver her divine punishment to whomever deserved it.

Too bad he had failed to realize that this time he would be the recipient of the aforementioned divine punishment.

Tom gaped at her helplessly, unable to even think of standing up.

He couldn't tell if the sly smile spreading on her face scared him or aroused him, maybe both. He gulped down loudly.

"Colloshoo" she mumbled and he felt his shoes stick to the grass underneath them.

"Wait up!" He yelled then, when it finally occurred to him that he should have ran away and that it was too late now.

"Oh, should I wait now?" She laughed wickedly.

"Let's talk, let's talk, Hermione..."

"Oh no, Tom ... I'm sorry but the time for you to talk is over." A moment later Hermione was on top of him, she straddled him grabbing his collar with one hand and pointing her wand under his throat with the other.

Tom had never been so scared and hard at the same time in his short life.

"Now you will listen to me." She hissed and brought her lips to his ear, so that the people who were rushing into the backyard to see what was going on couldn't hear, "We have a deal Tom Riddle and you will stick to that deal and drop your attitude or I'll curse you to hell and back until you regret the happy times with Mr. Wool. Did I make myself clear, Tom?"

Tom nodded in spite of himself, growling slightly as Hermione's lips brushed his earlobe.

"Well, Tom, now apologize for your behavior and know that next time you force something on me I'll hex your balls off for good."

Tom couldn't hold back a small moan. He gave her a wicked smile when she leaned back to scowl at him. She shook him by the collar of his shirt and he sobered up slightly.

"Sorry," he breathed out, "For my behavior, it was inappropriate, my love."

"Professor."

"What?"

"You can call me professor." Hermione hissed as she plunged her wand deeper into his jugular.

"You're joking!" Tom scoffed.

"Oh, but I'm not laughing, am I?"

"No, professor." He spat.

She seemed pleased by those words.

"Well I hope we've bridged our differences." Hermione started to get up but Tom grabbed a lock of her hair pulling her back close to his face.

"I'll stick to my part of our deal, but you are mine and nobody else's and I will not react well to another lie, professor, my love." Tom smiled licking his lower lip, savoring the taste of her breath against his lips.

The kiss he had stolen from her the day before might have been a mistake but if he could go back he would do it all over again.

Hermione stared at him intently for a long moment, seemingly evaluating his words.

"Do you want me for yourself?" She asked after the long pause.

Tom was so taken aback by the question that words failed him.

He just nodded, feeling something hot envelop his lower belly and spread under his belt and down his legs, burning where Hermione still sat astride him.

Her lips parted in a smile that promised the pains of hell and the glories of heaven and Tom almost came undone at the sight alone.

"Well, you'll have to win me over then, and just so you know, I never liked whiny thirteen year old brats, love of mine!"

And with that she was hauled off of him by a panicked Aberforth while the small crowd rushed to the rescue of the other two jinxed boys.

"Game on, professor." Tom whispered out of breath.

**So... well... that happened**

**Sorry? ⊙﹏⊙''**


	6. Your wand, Dear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> First of all, let me tell you, just how much I love and appreciate your reviews!
> 
> I'm having a blast reading all of your theories about what will happen in the future and your reactions are just priceless!
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support! I'm so glad to have shared this story with you all!
> 
> Here is chapter six with its first glimpse of Hogwarts, we'll dive right in next chapter. I would've done it sooner, but I felt like I needed at least half of this chapter for 'healing', you'll get what I mean later on!
> 
> I opted for a rather light ending too, because next chapter might be more eventful and we'll have increasingly less room for humor.
> 
> As always, hope you'll enjoy this!
> 
> NEXT UPDATE, IN APPROX. 10/12 DAYS! 
> 
> Love,
> 
> M.

**Chapter 6: Your wand, dear.**

The air smelled of loose earth and dust.

It was a familiar an terrifying scent, the scent of destruction, of landslide, musk and broken stones, mixed with the hot and mockingly sweet smell of summer.

Muggle bombs had whistled across the sky of Scotland that July morning, landing with huge roars and digging deep furrows in the green Highlands. It had been the first Luftwaffe attack in that area, but not the first attack on England.

Hermione had cried quietly beside Aberforth in the back garden, while the boys had silently stared up at the sky from the upstairs windows. Not even Tom's friends, heirs of the most supremacist pureblood families had had words to comment on Muggle madness on that occasion, for they perhaps knew, deep in their hearts, that soon the wizarding world would prove just as much wickedness.

Hermione felt disconsolate and helpless.

Once again in her life, she knew exactly what was going to happen, and had no power to change it.

The world would have cracked for the follies of a single man and the interests of many others. Knowledge alone though, changed nothing at all, it didn't save lives, it didn't deflect bombs.

Hermione took in a deep breath, letting the humid and warm night breeze slide down her throat.

The whistles of the bombs had awakened memories of a past life, memories that had faded over the years and that she had been able to see vividly again.

The Battle of Hogwarts had flashed before her eyes as if it had happened just the day before.

She had been able to remember the chaos, the clangor. She had been reminded of each dead and empty gaze she had crossed while running through the castle that night.

And the blood… all that blood. Would history have repeated itself?

Today it seemed more likely than ever. After all, history had its own way of repeating itself. Then as now, it had been little more than the madness of a single madman that had brought the whole world to its knees.

That very madman was just a boy now, a stubborn, hardheaded boy, standing in the back garden of a small inn.

Ionically enough, that boy, was the only one Hermione wished she could hug today. Oh... how she wanted to hold him tight... Hold the living proof that the deaths of her future were still a long way off, avoidable as long as he staied a rosy-cheeked boy who smelled of soap and minty chocolate...

Hermione's gaze found him on the porch, right under her window. He was giving her his back, his face was turned upwards and lit by the moonlight.

With big snow-clear eyes and pouty lips, he counted the stars over Scotland as Scotland mourned its dead.

Hermione sat on the window sill of her room, she stared at the boy's silhouette.

Just a few weeks ago, she wouldn't have thought twice about going downstaris and sink her face into his warm embrace... but now...

Hermione wrapped herself in her wool shawl and sniffed... it was just so odd now.

She let her mind run free and wondered why she was even there... What was the point of it?

What could L.M. have thought? Why send her to love that boy to the point of insanity, if that never seemed to be enough? If history kept stubbornly repeating itself regardless of her attempts at changing it?

She twisted the bracelet around her wrist and ran her thumb over the small gold pendant absentmindedly.

_The Greatest Victory over Death will be Life. Forever Yours. L.M._

She grimaced as she felt the words engraving themselves in the metal right under her fingers, but her gaze lingered on Tom's back.

Her stomach tightened at the memory of how much she had been afraid of his gaze that day a few weeks ago. Where did all that anger come from? It had been just like in the past ... it had been an aspect of Tom that she hadn't expected to see again and it had hurt her.

The world had not welcomed him lovingly, in fact, it was probably fair to say that Tom's introduction to life had been quite brutal. Abandoned, manhandled, beaten, stabbed, burned, molested, raped, humiliated, hated, feared. The world had had no mercy for him at all.

His birth itself had been an abuse, a violence in a sense. Forced to come into the world against all common sense, against his own will and that of his father. The very result of a rape. The accidental cause of his mother's death.

Yet, at least in this timeline, Hermione had tried to compensate in every way for the wrongs he had received, none of which was her fault anyway...

She had tried to give him all the love he had always deserved. The love any child deserved.

So why did it seem like it was never enough? What was she doing wrong?

How was it that Tom's anger always manage to rule over the rest of his emotions? That was the true mystery to Hermione, especially considering he could be the sweetest of boys when he wanted to.

The brightest, the funniest, the smartest ... just so, so angry all the time.

Why did it take so little to drive him over the edge? She wished she had a better smattering of psychology... maybe she would've been able to help him overcome past traumas, relieve his pains and anxieties, figure out how come he was so insecure and fragile while he also happened to be self-confidence in the flesh on other occasions.

Hermione looked up at the starry night. She scowled at the Universe informing it that she wasn't about to give up on that boy.

She was mad at him, yes, angry still, yes, but she wouldn't have thrown the towel so easily.

Maybe she hadn't been the best choice, maybe L.M could have done better, but she was here now and, damn, she'd get herself hanged before giving up without at least trying everything she could.

No sir. If the world was so determined to bring out the Voldemort inside Tom, she would have fought with just as much determination to save him from that monster's ashen arms.

Hermione nodded to herself with resolve and wiped a tear sniffling softly.

"Don't cry, if you're not going to let me in." came his snalr.

Hermione shook herself slightly and looked down again, Tom was kicking some weeds that had climbed the wooden stairs of the porch; he had both hands shoved in his pockets in the most boyish pose he could strike.

"Who said I'm crying? And why would I do it for you? Go to sleep, Tom." She said wearily.

She wouldn't have given up... of course, she might have had to find a way to mend their relationship first, since after their recent 'accident' things hadn't exactly been great between them.

"You know I won't sleep and neither will you." He mumbled looking up and piercing her with his most intense gaze, "Let me in."

Hermione stared at him for a moment and then shook her head no, "It's not my fault we're in this situation, Tom, now go to bed, your friends are leaving tomorrow, it'll be a long day."

"I said I'm sorry ..." He scoffed incredulously, "I apologized ... like every day! It's not like... like I fucking hit you or something!"

"Language."

"I didn't… It was just a kiss… Aw, come on! I said I'm sorry over and over!" He added when Hermione shook her head in disbelief at the 'just a kiss' bit.

"I've accepted your apology, Tom."

"Then let me in!" he whined.

"Good night, Tom." Hermione started to get up from the windowsill and his voice grew more anxious.

"But the Muggles ... their bombs ... what happens if they hit the village?" He asked, again.

"They won't hit the village, Tom, the wards are up." she explained, again.

"I want to sleep in our room." He groaned.

Hermione pursed her lips. To be completely honest, it was kind of funny to see how he was trying every trick in his book.

"You've had Mrs. Nott rent the room for the whole summer, you might as well put it to use, Tom."

"But I'll have night terrors!"

"You won't, Tom."

"Then you will!"

He pouted when he met her dead-pan expression, "'Nott snores and Lestrange talks in his sleep!" he threw in the mix, hoping it would help.

"Well, tough luck, Tom, next time pick less bothersome friends. Good night." Hermione sighed and proceeded to close one of the window sashes. She stopped mid-action though, as she caught sight of Tom suddenly leaning forward, one hand cupped under his chin.

"Fuck… shit! Hermione! No wait, I'm serious... it happened again." He sniffled.

Hermione took a deep breath and summoned all of her patience.

"Oh for God's sake, Tom?!"

"What?! I told you to open up like a hundred times!" He snapped tilting his head backwards trying to stop the nosebleed.

"Unbelievable ... the same trick since you were five ... shame on you." hissed Hermione, fishing her wand from the nightstand and rushing to the door.

She walked briskly but lightly down the stairs, trying not to make the wood creak with each step. She would have preferred to stomp down, to storm out and yell, to let out all of her frustration, but there really was no reason to wake up Aberforth too.

The poor thing could use a few hours of sleep, he'd already been heartbroken enough about the strange atmosphere between her and Tom in the last few weeks ... also, she knew if she had felt the sudden need to slap the smug off Tom's face, Aberforth would have been too quick to intervene…

When Hermione finally broke into the backyard Tom was still awkwardly standing there, with his nose up in the air and one wrist pressed against it in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Look at you! Ridiculous! Thirteen, Tomforgodsake, and you still up to these charades!"

"Almost fourteen and why should I change a winning strategy?" Tom grumbled, blindly feeling the space around him looking for her, "Are you going to help me, any time soon?"

"You know what? You can bleed out as far as I'm concerned... It'll teach you something!"

Tom jerked his head down to give her a dirty look but with the movement a new gush of blood came down spraying his white shirt and dripping down his chin and neck.

"Shit!" He hissed spraying more blood all around in little droplets.

"What comes next today? The fever? Or the vomiting? Maybe both?" snorted Hermione.

She felt quite itchy to intervene by now, but was still clinging to the foolish illusion that this time, she would not fall for his emotional blackmail.

Tom coughed to avoid choking on the blood that had trickled down his throat and his gaze went from angry and offended to dramatically frightened. Hermione lifted an eyebrow.

There.

That was how much of a drama queen the 'Dark Lord' could be.

How could he be the same mean monster from her memories? Maybe he wasn't, whispered the weak part of her, because, yes, these were the silly little moments when she became convinced that she must have made some sort of difference in the story.

If only Harry and the others could've witnessed these types of situation. What would they have thought of a Voldemort capable of causing himself half a stroke just because he couldn't have what he wanted right then and there? He couldn't possibly be the same guy… could he?

"Oh, damn it, Tom!" Hermione groaned when he started gagging on the blood and retching altogether, "Senantur".

The blood stopped dripping at once and Hermione walked over, waving the white flag for good. Tom took the chance to grab her hand as soon as she was within reach and she stopped dead in her track.

He held her hand in silence for a while and Hermione didn't say anything.

He just stood there, like a bloody idiot… pun intended.

After their back row over the summer holidays, they had spent a few days of normalcy. Hermione had spent time with him and his friends, helped them with their homework and took them on trips to the woods.

Then one evening during dinner, she had 'dared' to refer to them as 'children' and BUM, Tom's hormones had exploded again and he had thrown an endless tantrum.

He had acted all smug in front of his friends and moved back into their room, because he was 'a man and not a boy', he didn't 'need her', she would have 'begged for him to come back' and all that crap.

And here he was now, crawling back already. Knocking on her door late into the night, praying for her to let him in, for he was tired and couldn't sleep without her.

What a bloody… bloody idiot… he probably deserved to be given the cold shoulder. Yeah. Perhaps, he really deserved to experience firsthand how it sucked to be a 'man and not a boy'. She shouldn't have let him always decide when they could make up...

But when Hermione looked at him standing there, more like the child he was than the man he wished he could be, it was just impossible to deny him exactly what he was asking for. The world had already denied Tom Riddle too much. It was clearly engraved in his skin in thick white scars, it was written in his lips, perpetually sulky by nature for a reason.

He looked like a doll in the moonlight, and it was just that easy to forget how vicious his grip had been that day in his room. It was just so easy to justify his temper… she always needed to somehow over-compensate for the hurt he had received from life.

Tom was Hermione's weakness and she knew… the worse part was that he knew too apparently.

He was possibly the biggest bloody idiot the world would have met, but to Hermione, he was still the scared boy, trembling as she dragged him in a dark kitchen with the man who had abused him for years. He was her smart boy reading all sorts of books to her till late into the night. Her cute boy, sleeping nestled against her chest every night. He was… hers. Her heart would always be weak when it came to him.

Damn it. Damn him.

"Why are you so cold? Don't you love me anymore?" he asked, "You know I'm sorry, I truly am. Please, love me, please."

"Don't you dare try to turn this on me! You wanted to be seen as a man…" She said, stabbing him with a glare, "Well, suit yourself! Be a man, sleep in your own home, do your own things. Besides, wasn't it you who wanted be with your friends and all that?"

"Well, maybe being a man is overrated after all… maybe I can wait a bit longer before sweeping you off your feet… and 'friends' is such a strong word…" Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing at his expression. She looked away.

His hand was staining hers with blood.

It was so dark in the moonlight that it looked like ink. Hermione felt like crying at the sight.

His hand was slippery and warm and she could smell the irony scent of the blood mixing with the earthy smell of the garden.

It didn't disgust her.

She wondered if Tom knew what that implied.

She wondered if he knew what it meant not to move away in disgust when someone else's blood splashed on you. What a great deal of love that took.

Not something just anyone would do for you.

He probably didn't know, since he'd nearly messed up their entire relationship just out of his silly groundless anger and jealousy.

Fucking teens and their hormones… hissed an angry voice in Hermione's brain. Could she just get over it? Was it fair to? She surely wanted to. God, how she needed a hug right now.

She lifted her gaze back up to catch his but Tom was looking at their hands as well.

He looked mesmerized by the bloody sight, so entranced in fact, that he almost flinched when she yanked her hand away muttering a cleaning spell.

"I'm sorry." He said again, "I'm sorry, I won't… can we go back to normal? I was… stupid and…"

"Tom… I'm not even mad at that anymore… is just that…"

"Then just stop treating me as if expecting me to jump you all the time! Please, I just want to sleep, please! Let me in. I won't be a jerk ever again, never to you." He must have sensed his words were taking effect this time, "I… miss you so much."

Hermione clenched her fist but her resolve was already fading...

"If I refuse, will you bleed again?"

"Definitely," he replied quickly, staring straight into her eyes.

Hermione almost burst out laughing. Fuck.

He noticed and his pouty lips curled into the ghost of the victorious smirk that would soon spread across his face.

"I'll tell your friends you're a crybaby ..." she murmured relaxing her shoulders and letting him pull her closer.

"Nobody will believe you." He had 'checkmate' written all over that smirk.

"I'll say you're a bedwetter." Hermione pouted, as Tom slid down on his knees before her and hugged her torso, staining her nightgown in the process.

"Bollocks…"

"You'll see…"

"And how will you prove it?"

"I'll think of something, I'm quite the crafty witch." She snorted.

He looked up amused, his chin pressed against her stomach. Hermione let one of her hands roam in his curls, he closed his eyes and moaned a little.

"I'll tell them I slept with a teacher." He laughed. She slapped his head.

"Ouch! You Hag!"

"Don't you dare, Tom..."

"Fine! Though it's technically true! OUCH, woman!"

"Tom! I'm not joking!"

"I know, I'll be good!" He leaned back and crossed his heart, "I'll tell them you're mmmiiin… my guardian." sly wink.

"You look like a bloody vampire." Said Hermione, smearing the blood on his chin. Tom pushed against her hand like a puppy and her heart melted for good. The little shit.

"So… a teacher, uh?" he asked as he pressed his face back against her nightgown.

"An assistant, really." Hermione looked at the stars above them, "But still… I get to be called professor! Do you think I'll be any good?"

"You'll be the best ever, everyone will love you in no time… about that…"

"You say one jealous or seemingly-jealous word, Tom Riddle, and you'll be sleeping outside the village wards tonight." He snorted against her belly, but from the silence that followed, Hermione figured she had guessed exactly where he had planned to go with that.

"You'll be a brilliant teacher… you managed to get Lestrange to actually sit down and write an essay on his own, you deserve a medal already."

"Oh dear, Lestrange, not the sharpest tool in the shed, huh? I don't understand some of your choices when it comes to friends." Tom's silky curls slipped through her fingers and she lightly scratched his scalp. His face pressed harder against her belly, trying to guide her hand to a specific spot at the base of his neck.

"He's not the brightest but still ... he's a Slytherins and he comes from an important family… do that thing with your nails again… mh.. yes…"

"And since when do you care where people come from? We lived on Dorset Street until a few years ago..." Hermione pressed her nails into his skin involuntarily harder but he didn't pull away, instead he quickly pulled at the back of his shirt to bare a larger portion of his neck to her.

"I don't care where they come from but what I may use them for ... maybe school wasn't like that in your days, but I assure you it's always good to know exactly who you're dealing with nowadays."

Hermione had a flashback of Draco Malfoy refusing to shake her hand in first year and grimaced in disgust. No, some things just never changed at Hogwarts, no matter how much progress the world made. Hermione wouldn't have killed herself trying to change that too, she knew it would do nothing but drive her crazy.

"It sucked just the same when I went to school." She said sadly, "Purebloods, half-bloods, Muggle-borns... the nonsense that proves wizards are no more evolved than Muggles, as much as they like to think otherwise. Hate and racism all the same..."

"What are you?" Tom asked, "I don't think I've ever asked…"

"Would it change anything? My blood… would my blood change me in your eyes?" she asked with sudden urgency, pulling his hair to tilt his head up.

"No." He replied immediately, looking up at her. His eyes were clear and his expression honest.

Hermione smiled.

"Shall we go to bed, Tom? It's getting cool out here." He continued to stare at her for a while.

"Do you think my father was someone powerful? His name isn't worth a penny in the wizarding community, so maybe he was a half-blood or something, but powerful all the same…" Hermione's heart sank into her chest.

Tom had never asked about his biological parents. He had heard Mrs. Cole's stories many times, but he had never shown interest in his own roots. Was this where it all began? His obsession? No… Hermione swallowed hard.

"Again, would that change anything? Most Purebloods you spend your time with are half as good as you are. They look up to you anyway."

"Yeah... I just thought, he must have been powerful... either that or I got it all from you." He added lost in his thoughts.

"Smooth…" she laughed, "What about your mother? Maybe she was the powerful witch in the couple." Hermione suggested trying to feign ignorance. Powerful enough to drug your father with the most powerful and complex love potion for months, didn't seem like a topic to face right now.

"If she had been, she wouldn't have died like a fucking dog ..."

"TOM!"

"But it's true!"

"Don't say that. Death comes to all just the same. Witches and wizards can die all the same, their power has nothing to do with it. Now stop thinking about nonsense such as blood status. Maybe we can still save your shirt from permanently staining…" And with those words she pulled back from his embrace, gesturing to the blood that covered them both.

"If someone gives you trouble at school, you tell me, my love." He blurted out with the most serious of faces.

"Why would anyone give me troubles?" She asked tilting her head on the side.

"For nonsense… such as blood status." Tom said as he stood up and became a black silhouette against the moonlight, of course he had already figured it out, smart boy "It's tough in there, Hermione." He murmured, rubbing the dried blood from his hands.

For a moment he really looked older than he actually was, older and more tired.

"I mean... I've learned from a young age how to deal with this shit... but it's dog eat dog as much as it was back at the orphanage. If someone gives you shit ... you tell me… especially those Gryffindors… bunch of idiots let me tell you…"

"Language…" She warned, he rolled his eyes, "I can stand up for myself, Tom, especially when it comes to Gryffindors… believe me, I know how to deal with them. But thanks, it's nice to know we can always count on each other." Said Hermione.

"It will always be us, together… right, my love?"

"Together." Confirmed Hermione offering her hand.

Tom took it easily and gave her a little smirk.

"What?" She asked rolling her eyes.

"Will you say it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." She said looking away.

"Just say it."

Hermione scoffed. He squeezed her hand slightly harder and held his gaze in hers.

Demanding, little manipulative arse...

"You're being ridiculous and corny, Tom Riddle!"

"I think I feel slightly faint," He said suddenly lifting his free hand to his forehead, "I might pass out! Quick, quick! Before I die!" Hermione chuckled as Tom pretended to slowly fall back to the ground.

"Fine! FINE! You win! My love! My love!" Hermione blushed a little and thanked the darkness for concealing it. When she looked back up venturing a glance at Tom, he was smiling broadly.

"You're such a wanker..." she scoffed.

"Language!" He laughed pulling her towards the inn.

The train ride had been ... fun. Despite what she'd expected, getting on the Hogwarts Express without Harry and Ron hadn't been so bad.

Sitting among Tom and his housemates had been like sitting with the cool kids for the first time. That feeling, however childish and a little ridiculous, had made the journey more enjoyable and less of a rollercoaster of memories. That and the scent of Marseille soap and chocolate that occasionally blew in her direction when Tom would move beside her.

Sure, sitting with Gryffindors had always been fun and natural, but Hermione had to admit there was something secretly satisfying about sitting among Slytherins.

They interacted differently from Gryffindors, at least from those of Hermione's time.

More than chatter they talked in puns, tugging at each other's nerves incessantly, their squabbles were witty and amusingly pungent, a blast to watch, and as poisonous as they might get, there was a subtle sense of unity between the lines of their relationships, something that Hermione sensed being far more solid than a simple friendship.

Those little boys and girls already knew that the people they were sitting with would be their safety net, the base of their future social network.

Many of them would be betrothed by graduation or joined in business, some were related anyway, others, like Tom, had their own mysterious worth and talent. Their odd and cynical way of interacting showed that Slytherins didn't necessarily need to prove how important they were to each other all the time, they just were.

Hermione tried not to think too much about it, but suddenly the Death Eaters' blind loyalty to Voldemort, at least the ones from his inner circle, the first generation Death Eaters to be clear, made so much more sense.

It had been fascinating watching Tom relate to the other students, to marvel at how perfectly he fit in that elaborate social structure despite his origins were not remotely as royal as those of the others.

Sure, it was fair to think Tom had been purposefully more charming knowing that Hermione was watching, but she had somehow appreciated that too. Who doesn't appreciate a smart young boy? Plus, Hermione had not too secretly gloated at how much of that was due to her teachings.

Another interesting aspect of the trip, had been coming face to face with some characters Hermione had only heard of in her future life and learning that they were nowhere near what she had imagined them to be.

Abraxas Malfoy, for example, Draco Malfoy's infamously famous grandfather, the one who had given life to slimy Lucius Malfoy in the flash, was actually a rather feminine and delicate-looking boy, had gallant manners and blushed when Hermione spoke to him. A blushing Malfoy was something Hermione had never seen before in her life. He was just as blonde as Draco would have been later on, but lacked the rude snobby attitude on his grandson.

Walburga Black was not remotely reminiscent of the screaming old bat in Grimmauld Place's painting. She was rather a young English rose, a couple of years older than Tom. She had a wild temper and a sharp tongue. She was bold and bossy and way out of Orion Black's league, who was a rather quiet boy instead.

Nott, whom Hermione had got to know a little better over the summer, confirmed himself to be the most balanced of Tom's friends, just as Lestrange confirmed himself as the most deranged of all.

Mulciber reminded Hermione of a young Gregory Goyle and there was no way she would ever think otherwise of him.

He was a big boy with the same physical and verbal grace of a bull in a china shop. Unsurprisingly, he was the keeper on Slytherin's Quidditch team, which by the way didn't seem to be a great deal, as most of the boys in Slytherin were much more interested in their studies than in sports. They seemed surprised to even have a team.

Hermione had a feeling she had definitely been ill sorted…

Druella Rosier was a tall and slender girl, with sharp but somehow charming facial features and full lips with a deep cupid bow, that made you want to poke her lips every time she spoke.

She seemed to be a clever girl. It had been quite surprising to notice the confidence with which she would interact with Tom, whom she clearly fancied to some extent. It had been even more surprising to notice the casual way in which Tom would indulge her.

The two exchanged jokes easily and teased each other, similar to how Hermione had once done with Harry or Ron, but way more courtly. It was curious to watch them, especially since Tom didn't seem to give the same freedom to many other girls.

In fact, he did not seem very interested in girls' attentions, which, for the record, were plentiful.

In fact, the amount of girls peeping into the Slytherin compartment to take a quick peek at the 'Slytherin princes', namely Tom, Eurus Nott and the young Abraxas Malfoy was just ludicrous. From what Hermione gathered, the three boys were venerated by girls all over the school, even way older girls.

They were pretty much treated like royalty and obviously teased for it by the boys of their house, much to Hermione's amusement and Tom's annoyance.

While the journey had been surprisingly fun, the arrival at the castle turned out just as surprising in the negative.

Hermione had expected Dumbledore not to let her get away with the threats she had included in her letter months ago, especially since he had bluntly ignored the topic ever since.

All he had done had been sending her the Assistant contract she had requested, and Hermione had always assumed he would have confronted her once she would have gotten to Hogwarts coming September.

She had prepared for any kind of confrontation, from an angry outburst to a calm conversation, perhaps she had even practiced a little in front of the mirror ... However what she found in front of her entering the Great Hall went beyond anything she could have imagined.

The usual four long wooden tables, which typically housed students from the four houses of Hogwarts, had been lined up along the walls and in their place, in the center of the room, stood a familiar narrow stage.

Dumbledore was standing on it already, while the students were gathering around it, looking quite confused themselves.

The youngest ones, those still to be sorted, were being lined up by a white-haired, jovial-looking teacher, whom Hermione would later discover to be the DADA teacher.

Hermione's eyes quickly scanned the faces of more unknown professors, all sitting behind a long table at the far back of the room. The only familiar face, although much younger than what Hermione remembered, was Slughorn, who was sipping wine from a golden goblet and chatting rather excitedly with a dark-haired wizard sitting next to him.

"Come on in, come on in!" urged Dumbledore, gesturing to the hesitant students to come closer, "Welcome back to school and welcome, to all of you who are here for the first time." Dumbledore's voice rang amplified in the hall. The little crowd fell silent and Hermione knew what was about to happen long before it was announced.

Her heart started racing in her chest and she squeezed Tom's hand lightly. He gave her a quick, worried glance before landing his snowy gaze on Dumbledore's figure.

"You must be wondering what happened to our feast, well, worry not, because soon we will all be sitting in front of our steaming plates, I promise." Some students laughed awkwardly, some Gryffindors clapped and whistled smugly.

"However, before we begin with our usual traditions, may your rumbling bellies forgive us, I would like to have the pleasure of introducing a new member of our staff, a rather revolutionary figure in our faculty!" The Slytherins around Hermione started huddling around her, as if feeling the instinctive need to protect her.

"So, please may I have a warm and welcoming applause for Mrs. Hermione Granger, my personal Transfiguration assistant."

Hermione's throat went dry. She felt Tom tighten his grip around her hand, but Dumbledore's cerulean gaze found her in the crowd and Hermione was forced to let go and move forward.

"It's ok, love." She whispered. Although, the moment their fingers untangled, panic enveloped her completely.

Was Dumbledore about to do what she thought he was?

"Now, many of you, especially those who have recently started their studies, fail to realize how useful transfiguration can be. You'd think that my subject to be more useful for mending torn garments than for dueling..." He paused as a round of applause and enthusiastic cries rose from the area where most of the Gryffindors were gathered. Many Slytherins started whispering nervously among themselves, staring icily from the wizard on stage to Tom Riddle.

Dumbledore held out his hand to help Hermione on stage, she took it smiling shily at the crowd and throwing a puzzled glance at the wizard, who was wearing quite a scary and unreadable expression right now.

What was he trying to prove? Would he try and hurt her? In front of everyone? He couldn't do that… could he?

"So, Headmaster Dippet and I thought it might be a good idea, to demonstrate how fundamental and helpful transfiguration can actually be, if properly studied." Dumbledore said, winking at a Hufflepuff boy standing in the front row. The boy blushed violently at those words, as he was probably not particularly well versed in the subject, a couple of Gryffindors boys made mean comments and Hermione pierced them with a glare.

Was Dumbledore straight up bullying that boy? Why wasn't anyone saying anything about it?!

"... and to give you a taste of the amazing skills of our new Assistant, to whom you can refer as Professor by the way." Another small round of applause filled the room, while the students stood on their toes to get a good glimpse at the girl standing next to Dumbledore.

"Mrs. Granger here," He resumed pointing at Hermione, "May look young and inexperienced at first glance, but Transfiguration itself, teaches us not to trust appearances too much, isn't that right?"

"Right." Hermione spat through clenched teeth.

"So, without further ado..." Hermione gasped as a shower of applause rained around them.

Dumbledore drew his wand and turned to her.

"Although this will be just a demonstration, a friendly duel if you will, I'd still suggest not to stand too close to the stage, Mr. Tanner." A tall Ravenclaw boy retrieved his hands from the stage, followed by the many others who had leaned against it, "Mrs. Granger? Your wand, dear."

Dear. Hermione shivered.

She caught a glimpse of Tom's pale face in the crowd, his eyes wide with fear. She returned to focus on Dumbledore.

"What does this mean?" Hermione whispered when Dumbledore approached for the ritual bow.

"I have vouched for you, I've hired you no question asked... now I want to test your skills… is that too much to ask?" Dumbledore said, barely moving his lips and bowing first, "Do you feel the need to contact the Prophet about it?" He mocked.

"I didn't even expect you to hire me ... I was hoping you'd wonder why I wanted to be here in the first place." She whispered, finally drawing her wand.

The crowd roared in excitement and anticipation.

"Oh, isn't it always the same reason with you, Mrs. Granger?" Hermione clenched her jaw and bowed. Dumbledore was careful to cast a long glance at Tom as he turned to go and position himself at the bottom of the stage.

Hermione's blood began to heat up and she marched to her spot as well. This was just ridiculous… only a conceited fool would have thought this was a good idea to teach her a lesson. Then again… this was Dumbledore.

"Does anyone from the teachers' table want to choose a starting item for us? Our beloved Headmaster, maybe?" Dumbledore asked, spreading his arms in the direction of his colleagues. Headmaster Dippet rose cheerfully and drew his wand.

"With great pleasure, Albus!" The plump man said, then, with a flick of his wand he sent a chair landing right in the middle of the narrow stage, "That should provide the right size, something bigger would be too dangerous!"

Dumbledore smiled at the Headmaster's words, Hermione shrugged.

"Whenever you're ready, then!"

Dippet had not finished saying it, that the chair had already turned into a warthog. The animal started running towards Hermione, charging at full speed.

Okay, fuck gallantry, I guess. She thought.

Hermione was quick, the warthog turned into a cat with a flick of her wand and it started chasing its tail on the spot, eliciting a chorus of 'aww' from a small group of girls nearby.

"Great defense! Great use of a non-verbal! Take notes!" Dumbledore said cheerfully to the crowd, while really, he was just measuring Hermione's skill to balance his own. At least he had the decency to sound somewhat impressed.

The hall gasped at the professor's next move. Hermione's harmless kitten grew out of proportion to morph into a massive Bengal tiger, which found Hermione way more interesting than its tail.

Hermione doubted that the students, especially the younger ones, would notice what Dumbledore had just done, but she surely didn't miss the hint. Changing the size of a transfiguration was definitely not a beginner's move, Hermione herself, who had studied a lot in recent years, would not have been able to perform such a metamorphosis.

It was clear that Dumbledore wanted to let her know who was in charge.

Hermione took a step back, mentally cursing the professor as the tiger leapt towards her.

She could see his point, but who in his right mind would use such a potentially dangerous beast with all these students standing so close!?

Hermione would later think that Dumbledore's disregard for the safety of the students shouldn't have surprised her that much after all, as this was the same man who had thought it a wise idea to host an adult Cerberus, in a room that could be opened with a simple Alohomora.

Something big and harmless, big and harmless… she racked her brain for the right choice. The crowd held its breath.

Hermione moved just in time, the tiger jumped and landed on her in the form of a large wagging St. Bernard dog.

"Just in time!" Dumbledore raised his hands above his head to make the students cheer.

The applause was not long in coming, along with the relieved sighs of those who had feared the worst. Hermione patted the big dog's head affectionately and took the moment of distraction to peek at Tom, who was looking at her with a mixture of admiration and immense apprehension.

The dog became a chair again as she lost focus.

"That was quick thinking!" someone marveled in the background.

"She's good!" yelled someone else excitedly.

"Dumbledore will have her on her knees in a moment…" Laughed someone else.

"Let's try something more exotic!" Smiled Dumbledore.

Hermione turned just in time to see the chair transform into a huge snake. The colossal beast raised its large head and hissed menacingly.

Hermione paled at the memory of what had happened the last time a snake had appeared in a room with a Parselmouth and her mouth went completely dry at the memory of Nagini.

Horrified she turned to Dumbledore first, now smirking knowingly at her, and then to Tom, who was already advancing alarmed towards the stage.

Slytherin's heir. If he had talked to the snake everyone would have known, everyone could have told him about the… NO.

Hermione blinked twice and when the snake lunged forward, revealing its long fangs, she struck with Stupefy first, knocking the beast backwards and out of her face, then she struck again, quickly, accurately. The snake squeaked loudly and turned into a huge slimy worm, which fell limp, in the center of the stage.

Many students gagged in disgust and leaned backwards. Hermione couldn't really blame them, the worm was not very appealing to look at considering its size. A chorus of cheers rose from the Slytherins.

She locked her gaze with that of the professor, but found no trace of his previous fake kindness in his. The mask had cracked.

Dumbledore was getting carried away by the situation, wasn't he?

Men! Hermione snorted.

So competitive when it came to these nonsense.

It wasn't uncommon for situations to escalate during a duel, especially if both duelists were particularly good. It was easy to lose sight of the educational purpose of the whole situation, but they had such a big audience at the moment, that Hermione wondered if it wasn't slightly out of place to get so carried away. Would any of the other professors intervene? They surely didn't seem bothered by Dumbledore's odd behavior.

She was about to venture a glance at the teachers' table when the worm jerked forward and morphed back into a snake, many students screamed when the snake caught fire and rose tall and threatening, hissing at Hermione viciously.

"Professor," said Hermione, loud enough for everyone to hear, "You didn't say we could combine charms…"

Dumbledore seemed to slightly snap back to reality, he looked at the snake, then his stare slid slightly to the left, towards Tom. He smiled.

"I didn't say we couldn't do it either." He said, "I just want to give the students an idea of the infinite possibilities!" With those words Dumbledore waved his wand and the snake hissed loudly, displaying its sharp fangs, only this time the beast turned its attention towards the students who screamed in terror, stepping back and away from the stage.

All but one, who stared defiantly at Dumbledore and then fixed his proud gaze in that of the snake.

"NO" The scream left Hermione's throat before she could stop it as she lunged forward at the fiery beast.

The snake made a strange noise and the fire around it turned a bright blue. The snake froze and fell to the ground in a rumble of shattered glass that forced the professor's attention back onto the stage.

Dumbledore did not flinch, he waved his wand and the snake came back in one piece, alive and well again. The animal leapt at Hermione. She dodged but her spell missed its target.

Again the beast turned its attention to Tom and Hermione felt liquid anger pouring into her veins.

Why did Dumbledore want to provoke him?! Or was it her he was trying to provoke? Was this a threat? If she had talked about Grindelwald to the media, would he have hurt Tom? Hermione heard herself growl. Over my dead body. She swore to herself.

The following spells hit the beast in quick turns.

The snake became a large stuffed animal of itself, then a snarling serpentine-looking dragon, a balloon in the shape of a dragon, then some sort of miniature Zouwu (which slightly delayed Hermione's reaction due to shock), then into a long tree trunk.

The crowd roared with each metamorphosis, Hermione was slowly losing her beat, but she knew that Dumbledore would cast the snake again as soon as she'd let her guard down, so she forced herself not to relax.

The trunk became a long crocodile that advanced swiftly towards her.

Hermione was about to strike back when the beast abruptly changed direction once more, and opened its jaws at the crowd of students in the front row.

Hermione snapped between the beast and the audience without even thinking about it twice. The animal's jaws closed with a loud snap ripping away a portion of Hermione's sleeve and opening a long gash in her forearm.

Hermione heard the noise of Dippet's chair scraping against the floor, she told herself that the duel was about to be called off, so instead of looking at the crocodile she turned to look at Tom, who, together with more Slytherins, was yelling insults at Dumbledore, the same way a bunch of Gryffindors were rooting against Hermione.

Hermione opened her mouth to scold Tom and tell him there was no reason to be that rude, but in that moment of weakness Dumbledore struck again.

"BEHIND!" She read the word on Tom's lips.

Hermione whirled around, finding herself face to face with a giant rattlesnake.

"ENOUGH!" Dippet yelled.

But the snake bared its fangs, Hermione saw Tom making a run towards the stage, slipping through the hands of his fellow Slytherins, all failing to stop him in his mad rush.

It was as if the world suddenly started moving in slow motion. Tom parted his lips.

Hermione pointed her wand through the crowd and casted a quick 'Silencio'. She saw Tom stop dead in his track, bringing both his hands to his throat with a bewildered look on his face.

She spun around facing the snake and swiftly stuck the tip of her wand into the open wound of her arm hissing in pain.

A few students screamed in horror, Dumbledore's eyes widened in amazement as a series of runes, tattooed on Hermione's arm, lit up.

Living with the Flamels for a year had taught Hermione a thing or two about runic magic. She had taken her sweet time experimenting and refining her technique, helped by the most ancient wizards the world had ever seen. Had Dumbledore expected any less?

Hermione withdrew her wand from the gush with a groan and ran it over her tongue, muttering the spell. She moved so fast she even found the time to throw a wicked grin at Dumbledore.

She pointed the wand between herself and the snake, then ran her free hand over the bright tattoos on her forearm until she touched the right rune, an ancient Egyptian rune meaning 'nothing'. The rune engraved itself on the ground just when the snake made its move and snapped towards her face.

Hermione closed her eyes and held her breath.

The crowd instantly fell silent and then erupted into an excited roar worthy of the catching of the golden snitch during a Quidditch final.

The snake had vanished into thin air, leaving behind only a bright halo and a stunned Dumbledore.

"Mrs. Granger." He said, "We didn't say we could use dark magic..."

"We didn't say we couldn't either." Hermione spat through clenched teeth, accepting with a fake smile the hand that the professor was holding out to her with equally fake concern.

Hermione turned toward Tom.

He was looking at her with a level of pride and relief she had never seen on his face. His classmates howled excitedly beside him, nudging him in the ribs and patting him on the back but he only had eyes for her. Come to think of it, he'd never seen her fighting.

"That's how you handle a Gryffindor..." she mouthed at him with a smile. He shook his head in disbelief smiling. Hermione let Dumbledore pull her back on her feet.

"Albus! You got a little carried away there, boy!" Said Dippet in a nervously high pitch, almost a hysterical falsetto, as he made his way towards them at a brisk pace.

"Nothing my marvelous assistant couldn't handle, as you can see! I think I've proven her qualities and worth! Didn't I tell you how good she was?"

"Oh sure, Albus, sure." Said Dippet managing to bring his voice half a pitch down this once, "Mrs. Granger, it will be a pleasure to have you on our staff, you're very much welcome!" said the headmaster, quickly shaking Hermione's hand in his sweaty one "Now, now! We have a sorting ceremony to perform and a rich feast awaiting! Mrs. Granger can I have you escorted to the infirmary by one of our prefects? I'm sure yours is just a scratch, but it would be better to tend to it soon enough, we'll be waiting for you!"

Hermione nodded gratefully to the headmaster, then turned to Dumbledore, bowing briefly.

"This isn't over." she said softly locking her gaze into his.

"Of course it isn't." He bowed in turn "It has only just started."

"That was bloody brilliant!" Tom cheered as he escorted her to her rooms after the feast, "Bloody brilliant! You're wicked! Damn, you made the whole thing disappear! You vanished his snake! You virtually neutered Dumbledore! What's with him and all those metaphorical cocks anyway?"

"TOM!" Hermione almost screamed in laughter.

"You vanished his metaphorical dick! Good job, love!"

"Stop saying that! What if someone hears you!" She laughed, surprised by his enthusiasm. She hadn't thought Tom to be so averse to Dumbledore, he'd never particularly liked the man, but had never even voiced his dislike so openly before.

"Those tattoos on your arm? Why don't they show now?" He asked pulling her sleeve back and revealing a perfectly clear patch of skin.

"Ah, an old trick I learned in France ..." She belittled. An old trick, yes, almost half a century old, in fact. An old trick that had almost cost her a couple of fingers during her experiments ... but this was not the place to let Tom know.

"How's your arm?"

"All healed…"

"That bloody bastard!"

"TOM! I'm fine! It happens, it's hard not to lose it during a duel… I myself didn't exactly behave fairly…"

"Still! You never even tried attacking him… everyone noticed! He kept on going at you and you never lost your cool, even Professor Slughorn agrees… you're too good." Hermione blushed a little and tried to brush away his compliments with an annoyed gesture of her hand.

"I'm just patient." She said, "What a feast, I'm so full I think I could explode!"

"They'll talk about it for months in school."

"About the feast?"

"About your genius! And you are mine! Ah, what a stroke of luck!" Tom's smile grew so large it scared her.

"Tom…" She warned. He raised both hands in surrender.

"I didn't mean in a malicious sense... well, in yeah in that sense too but... ouch!"

"Why did you silence me during the duel?" He asked then, and his gaze suddenly sharpened.

"Because I could handle the duel myself ... strange as it may seem to you, I am quite good with my own metaphorical penis..." she smiled waving her wand before his eyes. Tom offered a short half smile and a grimace at her censorship.

"I noticed that... just ..."

"Tom, it's not exactly something you want everyone to know ..." She said nervously interrupting him.

Luckily Tom just nodded and bit his lower lip. Hermione leaned her head against his shoulder. She refused to ask him what he had just stopped himself from saying.

In a few days the stories about Hermione and Dumbledore's duel had swelled with all sorts of made-up details, although all the students had been present, there were those who swore that the Transfigurations assistant had turned into a fire-breathing dragon, and those who insisted that Dumbledore had soared above the crowd with big bat-like wings.

All the commotion was proof that Hogwarts was indeed identical to how Hermione remembered. It also confirmed Tom's theory. People would have been talking about the duel for months.

After the first exciting evening in the castle, routine pleasantly kicked in.

Classes started and soon, both Hermione and Tom found themselves totally caught up in their own rhythms.

In the little free time they could spend together, which was still more than anything they had been allowed in the last couple of years, while Tom was at school and Hermione in Hogsmeade or Paris, Tom would obviously be particularly clingy.

He would try to drag her on long solitary walks, determined to share her with the world as little as possible and Hermione mostly humored him. She was glad they were managing to mend their relationship, the how and where were not necessarily important to her.

When in November, third year students were finally allowed to spend weekends in Hogsmeade, Hermione was even more glad that she and Tom got to speed some time with Aberforth too.

During the rest of the week, however, the place where they would spend the most time together was the library.

She wouldn't exactly sit at Tom and his classmates' table, of course.

First of all, it wouldn't have been fair to sit with the Slytherins, since she was kind of a teacher anyway and it would seem like aiding and abetting.

Second, if she intended to be regarded as a teacher, and treated as one, she had to limit the time she spent with students outside of classrooms.

In fact, it seemed the students had a hard time seeing Hermione as a teacher considering she looked no older than any seventh-year student, while most of the other professors seemed to have known Merlin firsthand.

It also didn't help that Hermione wasn't particularly tall per se, and was rather petite. It was enough to think that Tom could easily tower over her now, and he had not yet turned fourteen.

Keeping her distance from the students guaranteed the best chances of being treated with the proper respect.

So, in the library, Hermione would sit a few tables away from Tom & co., happy to keep an eye on the small Slytherin study group from the distance, quick to slip them the right book at the right time every now and then, while also conducting her own research undisturbed.

Tom loved the gimmick. He could go about his studies and still have her within reach, which seemed to please him to no end.

As for Dumbledore, he had completely avoided confronting Hermione.

Not that they could avoid spending time together. On the contrary. Dumbledore was probably the person she saw the most during the week.

They spent a lot of time together, correcting homework, organizing lessons and exchanging ideas about the Time-Turner, however, whenever Hermione would try to bring up the duel or Paris, Dumbledore would change the subject.

Hermione would have preferred to talk about it, understand what the heck the professor had in mind. He seemed to know how she felt very well, but also seemed quite happy to let her simmer in her ignorance all the same.

His was an immature and suspicious attitude, but also the most Dumbledore-like attitude he had shown so far, which in a twisted way, was almost reassuring.

If Hermione had known exactly what to accuse him of, she would have been less hesitant to force him into the confrontation. Too bad that, even being sure as she was, that Dumbledore had something to do with Herbert's story, Hermione had no idea of the why and how.

It was obvious that the wizard had plans for, or at least a strange interest in, Tom.

Even during the duel, he had tried to provoke the boy to speak Parselmouth in front of everyone. But why? What could he possibly gain from him? Did he think he was somehow the key to Hermione's time travel? It didn't make much sense. And even so, why try to turn Tom against her? How did he know jealousy was one of the keys to do so? And so she vowed to keep the situation under control, glad that at least her presence would limit Dumbledore's chances of doing what he wanted with Tom.

Hermione was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she flinched when, turning down the next corridor on the way to the library, she found herself faced with a small army of girls.

She blinked a few times with a questioning expression.

"Can I help you?" Hermione asked when the girls, mostly Slytherins with the exception of a couple of Ravenclaws, didn't move to let her through, confirming they were expecting her.

"Ehrm ... Professor ... we wanted to ask you something ..." stammered a blonde girl with delicate features, whom Hermione knew to be Selwyn's younger sister, and usually, far from being so shy.

"Well then, go on, ask me." Hermione urged, slightly alarmed.

"Well, Professor, you see ..." interjected a Ravenclaw whose name Hermione couldn't remember. Something F… Fooley? No… Fawkey? Fawley… probably… yeah. Fifth year Ravenclaw.

"For Merlin's sake, Fawley, spit it out, I don't have all day!"

The girls started coughing in embarrassment, elbowing each other to spur themselves on, but none came forward yet. Hermione was about to press them to hurry and just spit it out, when the group opened up to let Rosier through.

Hermione was surprised to see the girl among that odd bunch, she would usually hang out with Tom and his little gang of boys or with the older Blacks, instead.

"They want to know if you really are Tom Riddle's guardian, Professor." Said Druella, looking back over her shoulder to gather consents. The girls nodded, obviously glad someone had finally taken action.

"Oh ..." Hermione blinked rapidly. Well, that was an odd question, she was quite certain Tom had gone to great lengths to make sure each painting in the damn castle would know she was indeed his guardian, "Well, yes, I am. Is that all?"

The girls exchanged another round of awkward glances.

Hermione rolled her eyes, she shifted her weight on her right leg and crossed her arms across her chest. That wasn't all, of course.

Was it something Tom had said or done? Had he said something weird about her? Most of the boys in Slytherin already treated her as if she were his wife more than his guardian…

Again, it was Rosier, with her shamefully beautiful lips (which Hermione had just decided would be something she'd envy for the rest of her days), the one to cut the bull's head off.

"Professor, they were wondering if Riddle was going to make a formal request... The Christmas ball is approaching. They would like to know if any of them will be lucky enough to have to add a seat at the table for the holidays."

Hermione continued to stare at Rosier with a frown.

The meaning of the girl's words escaped her completely, to be honest they seemed completely unrelated to each other even.

The Christmas ball? A formal request? Add a seat at the table?

Maybe they wanted Tom to invite one of them to the ball? Hell some of those girls were sixth years… was he that charming? That moody, chocolate-addicted brat?

Anyhow what did Hermione have to do with it? And what did Christmas have to do with it? She and Tom would spend it with Aberforth, at home, as always. Why would she care about them adding seats at their table?

"I ... I'm not sure I understand, Rosier, would you mind elaborating?" Many of the girls giggled, some whispered excitedly.

Rosier raised an incredulous eyebrow at Hermione's confused frown. The girl's expression lasted only fractions of seconds before, like any self-respecting Pureblood elite, she schooled it into a kind smile instead.

"Professor, is Tom serious about his intentions with any of these girls? Can anyone expect to receive a piece of jewelry for Christmas?" this time the girl pronounced the words slowly, as if dealing with someone who was hard of hearing.

Hermione's jaw would have detached completely from her face if it had been possible.

"You see, it seems Tom has expensive tastes, Professor, but he also doesn't seem to know the rules too well." Said Rosier.

"Because there are rules, as you will surely know... maybe you could explain it to him?" added a blushing fourth year Slytherin girl.

A faint image of Pansy Parkinson bragging that Malfoy would soon be gifting her with a bracelet making their engagement official flashed through Hermione's mind.

Suddenly she was able to connect the dots. Her eyes lingered on each of the girls standing there.

Tom has expensive taste... but doesn't know the rules well…

Selwyn, Rosier, Abbot, Flint, Burke, Fawley... Oh, God, Hermione felt suddenly sick ... what the fuck was he doing, messing with the daughters of all the most sacred Pureblood families?!

"I ... I don't ..." Hermione opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, looking shocked at the girls, all hanging from her words now, awaiting for the answer with excited looks, "But ... aren't you all a little too young to worry about marriage proposals? " She stammered.

Many excited faces twisted into disappointed expressions. Selwyn shrugged.

"We've been raised a certain way, Professor. Any of us would be happy to force our father's hand for Tom, but if he doesn't intend to step forward, he'll have to play with… well different toys."

"I'll be sure to get the message across, however, if it can help you make different choices in the near future," Hermione said turning to each of those present to make it clear that the message was aimed at each of them, "I'm not going to make proposals to your families, neither this year nor the next. I will definitely talk to him about it ... but for now, my word is final. "

"Thank you, Professor, it's perfectly clear." Rosier smiled, tucking a lock of shiny black hair behind her ear gracefully. Unlike her mates, all openly frowning and moping now, Rosier looked rather amused.

Hermione wondered if the girl had just offered to be the group's spokesperson. Maybe she wasn't really interested in Tom, not to the point of wanting to marry him? Maybe they were just friends… Or maybe ... she didn't care about a marriage proposal as much as everybody else.

Christ, how were these children so precocious?!

Some of them weren't any older than Tom… at their age Hermione had never even thought of kissing a boy let alone marry him.

Sure, at that age Hermione had punched Draco Malfoy, helped Sirius Black escape Azkaban, freed a death-sentenced hippogriff, confronted a werewolf, fought a dangerous Death Eater, used a Time-Turner for the entire school year and all while maintaining impeccable grades...

Had she been less busy, would she have been equally interested in the other sex? She had to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Hermione simply nodded, sparing herself form giving the girls a lecture. The group politely took their leave, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts and it was then that it struck her… Had she just consented to have THE talk with Tom Riddle?

How the fuck was she supposed to have THE talk with... Tom!?

Hermione groaned and slapped herself on both cheeks. She hid behind her hands moaning in pain and shame.

Merlin, she would have far preferred to have another go at Dumbledore's snakes. Perhaps, even jumping into a pit of Blast-Enden Skrewst would've been a far more comfortable prospect.

In fact, where could she find the nearest one and simply dive in?

By the time Hermione found the courage to face the subject, Tom was basically waiting for her.

It must have been obvious to him that something was wrong. Hermione had spent most of the Christmas holidays chasing him around the village, starting several nonsensical conversations and then walking away without getting to the point.

She had a hunch he also basically knew what she wanted to tell him, or she wouldn't have known how to explain the reason for his amused look when she walked into their room on New Year's morning, sporting bright Weasley-red cheeks.

She found him still sitting among the torn papers of his birthday presents (an emerald green sweater from Aberforth, a set of crystal vials, a brand new Gobstones set and a large box of assorted chocolates from herself), and sighed at the sight of him.

The previous night Hermione had had a very drunk and very awkward conversation with Aberforth about how to approach the subject with Tom. She had to admit, she had hoped the wizard would offer to talk to the boy himself ... but of course, Aberforth hadn't been particularly keen on the idea either, although he had certainly found the whole thing much more amusing than she had.

He had laughed particularly loudly when Hermione had told him that in the end, by the way, Tom had gone to the Christmas ball with his male friends, in a group, and that she had therefore worried for weeks, for no reason whatsoever.

"Thank you," Tom said cheerfully throwing a handful of random chocolates into his mouth and rolling one of the gobstones between his fingers. Hermione just nodded, hesitating, undecided about how to break the ice.

"Are you all right, my love? You are acting ... oddly ... did I do something?" he tried schooling his face into a worried expression but the corners of his lips betrayed him and remained curled upwards.

The blasted fox… he knew exactly what she wanted to say.

Hermione felt her cheeks catch fire, but she resolutely placed her hands on her hips in the most 'Granger-Like' pose she could strike and cleared her throat.

"Tom, is there… well someone you fancy in particular?" She asked, immediately regretting the choice of words.

"You." He said earnestly. Hermione rolled her eyes. Cheeky little...

"I mean a girl… someone in your school!"

"You." He reiterated with a smirk.

"Tom! You know what I mean."

"Get on with it, you know what I mean too." He scoffed.

She stared at him intently. Oh, he could be hella frustrating alright, but this was not the time to dwell on his supposed infatuation with herself.

"Tom ... you ... you know where… uhm... babies come from… right?" She blurted out, hating herself. Why wasn't the floor swallowing her whole?

"... Sex?" Tom asked with the most innocent expression his beautifully devilish features allowed. God, she had never wanted to run away so badly.

"Yes ... you ... you know what that is… what sex is… don't you?"

Tom nodded silently and threw another handful of chocolate into his mouth, looking at her with an expression that clearly asked if perhaps she needed him to explain how that worked. Which probably wouldn't have hurt since her ideas on the subject were quite theoretical.

Could this get any more embarrassing? Ladies and gentlemen, here's 'A complete guide on how to lose any dialectical skills whatsoever', a book by Hermione Granger. Scorned a little voice in the back of her mind.

"Well" Hermione exclaimed, "Well you shouldn't do it ... sex. Well not like ever... just maybe… well not now. Not at school... Not with your classmates... please."

Tom's eyes widened, he let out a choking sound and then burst out laughing so hard he spat chocolate everywhere. Hermione snorted in frustration and started for the door.

"Oh! To hell with it! Just don't have sex! And if you fancy someone, and that someone happens to be Pureblood elite, forgodsakeTom, have the decency to find out how to properly court the girl or I'll have your sorry arse betrothed so fast you won't have time to complain!" With that she stormed out of the room.

"Wait up!" Tom tried to call her back through tears of laughter launching forward to chase her across the room, Hermione quickened her pace and slid through his fingers twice, "No, wait! Wait! I'll stop ... I'll stop laughing!"

"I'm glad you find it funny, Tom! I assure you it was just mortifying to learn that… well… whatever!" She growled.

He managed to catch her in the corridor.

Hermione tried wriggling out of his grip but sagged in defeat when she failed miserably at that. Why the hell did he have to have such large hands anyway?!

Tom fought to catch his breath, bursting out laughing every now and then, despite Hermione's murderous gaze.

"Ok, ok, I'm done, I'm done..." he breathed out, coughing to stifle another fit of chuckles at the sight of Hermione's face, which was now more or less purple, "Ok, first of all, do not go betrothing my 'sorry arse' around, you might regret it later..." He said, full rascal smirk in place.

"TOM! I'm serious!"

"Me too!"

"Oh, whatever! I said what I had to say!" Hermione snorted irritably and tried wriggling her hand out of his, but he didn't let go.

"Ok, fine, I won't be… well reckless." He conceded.

"Good." Had he really been with those girls? To what extent? And why did she even care? She groaned mentally.

"Good…" He confirmed, their eyes locked and Tom licked his bottom lip as if looking for the right words, "You do know I'm serious when I say that the one I actually fancy…"

There was a wicked something that flickered behind his sharp and amused gaze, something that twisted Hermione's guts painfully. Perhaps for a split second there, her funny discomfort became visible, because Tom hesitated briefly, his eyes focused on something in her eyes and then lingered on her cheeks.

Hermione pulled her hand away quickly and looked away.

"You finish that sentence, Tom Riddle, and I'll make sure Dumbledore's metaphorical neutering will be nothing compared to what will happen to you!" Tom let go of her and doubled over in laughter muttering incomprehensible gibberish as he tried and failed to catch her hand again.

Hermione stormed downstairs blushing all the shades of red and a purple.

"I gather that went well…" said Aberforth, clearly struggling not to laugh himself.

"NOT. A. WORD. ABE." Hissed Hermione, glaring at the direction from which Tom's hysterical laughter still thundered, echoing throughout the inn.

"I'll get his birthday cake… from the…" But then Aberforth too burst into a roar of fat laughter and Hermione sighed in annoyance as she retrieved a bottle of Firewhiskey from under the bar. When had she signed up for this?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How would you go about explaining sex to Tom Riddle? Hehe I couldn'y resist, sorry!  
> Untill next time!


	7. Eat your fucking pie, Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,  
> I hope you are all well and healthy.  
> Here is the seventh chapter of the story, I hope you like it. I have read conflicting reviews on the last few chapters hehe  
> Thank you all for your opinions, it's nice to know what you think, and it's nice to read the criticisms too, it helps!  
> Before we start, a couple of things!  
> Tom's age: Tom just turned 14 in December, and he's in his third year and yes, in some ways he might seem a little precocious, however nothing that hasn't been validated as at least 'plausible'. I've done my research.  
> The characters are not perfectly identical to those in the book: if I were J. K. we would not be here talking and the story would be a very different one!  
> Also, always keep in mind the warnings and the rating of the story.  
> That said, I really hope you will continue to enjoy,  
> Love,  
> M.

**Chapter 7: Eat your fucking pie, Hermione.**

He woke to the sound of water. His brain suggested it might be raining, but he decided the sound was too regular for that.

Shower. The shower was running.

He refused to open his eyes just yet, conscious that the room must have been bathing in the sunlight, but also convinced that the light still felt too cold and too white against his eyelids for it to be a decent hour.

His hand instinctively felt the spot where he knew he wouldn't find her. A little sting of disappointment hit his guts all the same as he found the empty spot.

He hated when she'd skip their morning rituals. Where were the cuddles? The lazy smiles? The ruffling of his hair? Her nails running up and down his wrist until he'd be ready to open his eyes?

'Aren't you too old for these things?'

She had started repeating it way too often lately, she had started getting up before him way more frequently than he was comfortable with. Slipping away. He wasn't sure he was ok with that.

He didn't want to be too old for those things if he couldn't be old enough to have anything else.

The sheets were still warm so she must have popped into the shower right away and not long ago.

How could one be so eager to get into the shower first thing in the morning?

Tom hated showering early in the morning, he hated standing in the cold jet, naked and dazed, waiting for the water to turn the right temperature.

Any transition from one state to another that was too immediate, too fast, under any circumstances, unnerved him, especially during the holidays, when everything could be idle and slow.

From bed to shower was definitely one of those quick transitions that, in Tom's case, required a series of intermediate steps, stretching, cuddling, maybe eating breakfast, read a little... then maybe consider peeling off his pajamas.

Not her, she was different.

Hermione was always eager to do everything right away. If she could have eaten breakfast in the shower she probably would have, and Tom wasn't quite sure she hadn't tried it a couple of times.

She was the type who brushed her teeth while putting on her socks, who read while cooking, who'd cut your hair while driving you through a whole Charms lesson at the same time.

Tom knew Hermione had gotten into the habit of optimizing time since the days at the Orphanage. Having to share her time with 9 children had taught her that nothing couldn't be done faster (frankly, she could also be quite annoying when the rest of the world couldn't, or in his case, refused to, keep up with her rhythm).

Sometimes Tom would find himself mentally congratulating her, especially thinking back on the mornings when she managed to comb the mess on Olivia's head, keep him and Dennis from slaughtering each other, handle Mrs. Cole's hangovers and Mr. Wool's dementia, while also looking after Eric.

Other times, like that morning, he didn't see the point of still being in such a rush all the time, plus, it was the holidays…

She always ended up with too much free time on her hands during the holidays, and God forbad Hermione Granger would enjoy some sweet laziness.

Having free time would become reason for her to find two thousand more things to do, from helping Bert at the bookstore, to ruining Aberforth's beautiful pies with her poor cooking skills.

All activities that took Tom from the center of her attention by the way, which was quite the crime itself, as much as he was concerned.

Tom took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

He squeezed them shut again with a grunt, annoyed at the intrusive daylight whipping his clear irises with its brightness.

He stretched his arms forward writhing his face in a grimace, then brought his hands down, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes. Get ready to face the day, he mentally sung with her voice.

He shifted his weight to his side and rolled lazily to her empty but warm side of the bed.

Her scent hit him like a slap in the face. His eyes snapped open as other parts of him awoke from the slumber of sleep as well, ready to face the day, indeed.

God, that smell.

He sunk his face in her pillow and inhaled, he kept going, eagerly, until he reached the full capacity of his young lungs and was forced to stop. He held that breath then, savoring the excessive sweetness in his throat.

He held it in longer, as long as he could and then some more. He held it in, until his brain began to throb slightly, begging for a new intake of oxygen. Until his heart became a dull rumble in his chest and ears.

Because that's how she made him feel.

Suffocating with that infuriating need.

He was grateful for every crumb of her affection and attention, any form of it really, but it felt like it was never enough.

It would never be enough as long as she wasn't his the way he meant for her to be.

He would always choke on those familiar feeling of powerlessness and need, until the day she'd finally get it into that thick skull of hers that he wanted more… He wanted all she could give and then he wanted more.

For a while Tom had lived in the hope that she might be right, that those feelings would weaken over time, as she had said over and over in the past. But the more time passed, the more whatever he could get wasn't enough and it enraged him more often than not.

God, he wanted to press his face against that intoxicating smell so badly right now.

Not the one from the pillow, not the ghost of it.

He wanted to press his face on her bare skin. In the hollow between her small breasts, where he used to be allowed to snuggle and sleep as a child.

Tom blew the air out at once, and felt himself desperately gasp for oxygen.

Hermione's scent wrapped around him and he pressed his face against her pillow, sinking deeper in it, increasingly aroused and frustrated at once.

Damned puberty had hit him like a hurricane out of the blue, bringing along a whole new string of pungent needs and desires, amplifying every emotion, as if he hadn't had a hard time managing them as it was...

Tom groaned pulling down the waistband of his pants urgently, perhaps with a hint of resignation.

He hated that. Hated being so miserable. He hated touching himself.

Sure, it helped release the tension momentarily, but the sense of comfort and satisfaction lasted so little… in the end he'd feel stupid, weak and just angrier for the 'real deal' was not available to him.

His hand hesitated resting on the soft skin under his belly button, his fingers skimming under the waistband just barely.

He'd be angry and moody afterwards, he knew that. Maybe he could desist.

She couldn't handle his anger… she feared it for some reason.

Not his usual bad temper or moodiness, no, that made her snort at worst. He could get over that easily.

It was his real anger she seemed to fear. Whenever he had been really angry, she'd always repressed her own anger. She'd always calmed down and tip-toed around his fury avoiding all of the big confrontations... always.

As if she'd always had a secret fear of damaging him more than he already was.

He had taken advantage of that weakness of hers a thousand times. Sometimes he'd drive her mental on purpose… just so he could see how far he could push it before she'd snap, she never did though (well except that one time with the kiss thing, but that was different…).

He liked it sometimes. Her inability to face his anger. It made him think she was afraid of losing him. Made him feel like she'd love him no matter what. Like the summer of the cave.

Other times it scared him. It made him think that she could see something else living under his skin. Something dark and rotten he didn't want her to glimpse at, nor to be there in the first place.

Some other times it just confused him… it gave him way too emotional power over her and it felt like she'd might be pitying him for all of the shit of his childhood… and he surely didn't like that… nor the idea that she'd avoid actually arguing with him because she felt like she always had to treat him like a child.

If she had raised her voice every now and then and hadn't pulled out of an argument before it even started, it might have been a sign of recognition that he had grown up a little in her eyes.

Tom huffed in frustration. Why was he even thinking about all that shit?!

This line of thoughts wouldn't have helped with the moodiness, he frowned, nor was it softening other parts of him, still demanding for some sort of acknowledgment down there…

There would be time. He told himself in reassurance.

He was growing up and quite fast too. If nothing else, those new impulses, he said glancing under the sheets, were proof of that ... maybe she would soon notice too. He would have waited.

Because they would be together forever ... right?

It would have been them, together, forever… forever.

Tom's heart flipped and his stomach came to life at the very thought of that.

Ok. Fuck it.

He succumbed to that blind desire, and let his hand travel down in his pants, loving and hating the feeling altogether.

He took another gulp of that intoxicating smell and collected the moisture at his tip before sliding his hand back with a soft moan.

She always smelled of jasmine and honey and ... something unattainable yet so familiar. She smelled of home, of sweets, of every night since his new life had started, a life where no one dragged him in small suffocating storerooms, no one stabbed him, bit him, screamed at him.

Hermione smelled of salvation. The salvation she had provided for him. She smelled of power and magic and light.

That smell Tom could have distinguished anywhere.

The shower was still running, and he let his eyes roam on the closed door as he indulged in stroking his length in slow lazy movements, undecided whether he wanted to actually get to the point of no return. He let his mind crawl under the door and into that bathroom.

What would she look like in there? All naked and delicate, relaxed and peaceful under the warm jet. He could almost see the small droplets running down her pale skin… beautiful perfect skin.

Nothing like his.

Not the horrid scarred thing he was, inside and out.

Immaculate perfection. Yes. That was what she really was.

Untouched by the evil of men.

His hand stopped and his next breath stuck in his throat with a pinch of ancient panic. He kept his eyes on the door.

Men. Drooling beasts. She shouldn't have known how disgusting they were, how dirty they were. Slobbering, hairy, smelly creatures. He'd make sure she'd stay pure, unharmed, perfectly safe.

She'd be just for him. He'd be her one and only. He'd be safe for her. He'd be gentle and never harsh. He'd be her shield as much as she'd been his.

Tom bit his lip and let out a sharp breath, his hand resumed its slow motion, and he shivered slightly.

Yeah, he decided, he would have worshipped her.

Merlin, maybe he would have even changed his mind on morning showers if she'd allow him to get in there with her.

He'd be content with just looking at her, to caress her with his gaze, follow the small droplets running down her shoulders, cascading over that single lustful mole on her collarbone.

Nasty little mole.

It seemed to have been put there just to challenge his self-control, to challenge him to stay focused whenever she wore that damn sweater that had once belonged to him, the one that was large enough for that distracting, tempting dot to peek out and laugh at his helplessness.

"Uhg ..." he grunted softly, his chest rising and falling with an increasing pace, in step with his frustrated ministrations. His stomach cave in and rose back up with a little jolt.

He heard the water stop running and froze, but then came the sound of the soap bottle opening. She was about to lather and, FUCK, how he wished he could be foam right now.

Tom felt his cheeks heat up, his heart pound hard in his chest, like a beast trying to escape the cage of his ribs, rumbling and roaring when he forced himself to hold his breath too long in between breaths.

Would it ever come the day when she'd think of him like that? Would his name ever roll sweetly from her lips and into his neck? Would she let him kiss her again? Would she ever kiss him…

The water started running again.

Tom pushed his thoughts to all the times she had soaped his back and his chest, but it had been way too long ago.

He cursed himself for not having better imprinted every detail of those hands on his skin in his mind, although he could hardly blame himself for he had been just a child and not at all interested in the things he was now... thank God…

The only thing he distinctly remembered was that it was the first pair of hands that hadn't hurt him. Her fingers had always brushed his scars so gently. She had never looked at them with disgust. Never looked at him with disgust. No.

Those golden eyes of hers were only ever filled with love and pride for him, maybe worry sometimes... but mostly love, even when he had done horrible things... horrible… horrible and amazing things…

Tom's lips parted and he closed his eyes shut, frowning a little at the contrasting feelings stirring within him as the powerful sensation in his lower belly started building up.

The shower turned off.

The fleeting thought of withdrawing his hand from his pants crossed Tom's mind, but it didn't reach his muscles fast enough. He heard Hermione let out a small satisfied sigh, and clenched his jaw in anger as his hand took him over the edge that he wasn't sure he wanted to cross.

His guilt tangled with the overpowering feeling of his orgasm, turning it into something not entirely satisfying and… ugly to a certain degree.

"God. Shit ... Mio… ne…" Tom's words became disjointed grunts, invocations to the gods mixed with profanity and curses, bits of her name fell muffled into her pillow, broken by his frantic breathing.

He felt the warm liquid pump into his hand and he squeezed his grip, perhaps punishing himself, perhaps deluding himself he wouldn't make a mess of the sheets and himself.

He caught up with his breath gradually and as his heart rate dropped, his frustration and self-loathing grew. Full-fledged, unmotivated anger filled his system in the blink of an eye.

He had been weak, a victim of his own instincts and as a result he was angrier than before. Unsurprisingly.

He tried to dwell on a relatively happy thought as, disgusted with himself, he wiped his hand in his pocket, eager to immediately clean all evidences of his weakness.

Don't have sex with your classmates... he liked to pretend she'd said it in a jealous tone, even though he knew Hermione's was just genuine concern that he would end up cursed to hell and back by some pedantic pureblood father.

Which was one of the reasons why he wouldn't touch any of those squalid, bland girls at school ... many were waiting for nothing more than playing Russian roulette with his arse anyway.

Maybe get caught in a promiscuous act and cross their fingers for their fathers to opt for an honor-saving marriage rather than secretly executing him and get it over with.

His thoughts kept slipping away from the positive, albeit slightly embellished, memories he was trying to focus on.

He tried with the little flicker in her gaze in the corridor the day of his fourteenth birthday.

He evoked the blush of her cheeks, the unfamiliar twitching of her lips when he had been about to tell her just how much he fancied her over any other girl… had it been there? Had he dreamt of it? Had she actually felt something else then? Maybe it was just his hopeless need to believe so…

He shook his head and brushed his hand some more against his trousers as he pulled them back over his hips. Anything remotely happy kept being pulled away from him to leave room to darker thoughts, so in the end he gave up and set his features into the broody expression that would have stuck to him all day...

"Rise and shine!" She chirped stepping into the room wrapped in that fucking sweater, mole in plain sight, her hair damp, her cheeks flushed, he guessed from the hot shower.

"Just leave me alone..." He muttered pulling the blanket under his chin and scowling at her.

"God, since when are you so moody so early!" She huffed stomping her way to the door, grumbling something about teenagers and hormones.

Oh, you have no idea, he thought angrily.

"Since when do you have to wake me up with your stupid showers so early?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pleasantness… I waited for you to wake up but you kept snoring and muttering cusses whenever I tried pulling you back from the dead…" She mocked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Tom blushed slightly and pursed his lips. Of course, he had no memories of that. He would've calmed down hadn't he just found a new reason to be angry… at himself. How dare his body refuse his cuddles for him?!

"If you hurry up we can still have breakfast with Abe and make a run for the station to catch the last train, if we miss it we can still walk our way back." She said schooling her expression into a cheerful one once more.

"I don't want to walk, the snow is deep, you'd start complaining halfway through and I'd never see the end of it…"

"It's not that deep ..." she complained with a pout, giving a fleeting glance at the landscape outside the window. Tom forced his gaze away from her lips and rolled back to his side of the bed.

"You are short." He spat, "It'll always be too deep…"

"Always the charmer…" She snarled, "Well then, hurry up so we won't have to walk."

"Fine, now are you leaving of what?"

"I'm leaving alright…" she sighed opening the door.

"God you're so… annoyingly cheerful…" and not in bed with me, not looking at me the way I fucking need you to. Not close, not close enough. Never close enough.

He spared himself from the silly rant.

How could he get her to look at him differently if he kept acting childishly with her? He tasted bile and started praying his body wouldn't betray him with some of its absurd outbursts.

She waited under the threshold of the door, her lips parted as if she were about to say something but then no sound came. He saw her shrug and sigh in defeat.

"Okay, fine, keep your bad mood. Will you take a shower and come down?"

"I hate taking showers in the morning." He spat heatedly, ignoring the obvious fact that he would have to take one regardless. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"… Well, we'll be waiting for you to have breakfast, don't take forever, I smell treacle tarts!"

The door closed with a click behind her before he could make any snarly remarks about her awful taste in sweets (nevermind the fact he'd probably gulp down a dozen of those tarts anyway because… well sugar), but then his mind filled with the image of Hermione's soft heart-shaped lips sinking into golden syrup…

"I refuse!" He grunted glaring at his privates in exasperation. He stormed out of bed and into the bathroom slamming the door.

"If you used all the hot water, you better bring your ass and wand back here, I won't take a cold shower!" He yelled out of the bathroom window, stripping out of his shirt with way too much emphasis, heedless of passersby looking up from the street and laughing at his renown moodiness.

Truth be told, a cold shower might be just what he needed…

"How do you always get the highest grade, Riddle? Are you in a secret relationship with Slughorn or something?" She grimaced.

"More in a public relationship with punctuation… and handwriting, Rosier." He smiled.

"If that's a beautiful handwriting, I'm the queen of England ..." she retorted.

"Well, good morning, your majesty." Said Orion, peering at the essay over Tom's shoulder.

Rosier curled those absurd lips of hers into a grimace, then in a smile when she realized she had caught Tom's eye. He looked away.

As if he'd be idiotic enough to antagonize Cygnus now that he needed the Blacks...

"Riddle, I've been looking all over for you, mate." Said Orion, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder and fishing for something in it.

"'Course the swot would be in the library..." muttered Rosier with no heat. Tom ignored her and turned to the older boy, now handing him a frighteningly thick stack of parchments.

"Both my father and Abraxas' said they would be happy to let you use our libraries over the summer. You can have your guardian sign these formal invitations. Oh, you can stay as long as you want of course, so I made sure my father wouldn't include time limits of any sort."

"Formal invitations?" Tom asked, biting the inside of his lip in annoyance as he took the papers from Orion. He hated not knowing all those little formal pureblood cavils. Luckily, Rosier seemed to have figured it out in time, because she would almost always provide answers before the situation could get too embarrassing for him.

"Yeah, the formal invitation to cross the wards of an ancestral home. You'd need it to pass through the wards, well unless you're 100% sure you share blood with the family owning the property, that is."

"I see…" Tom murmured holding on to a blank expression. Fuck. He didn't want to ask Hermione for permission… but apparently he didn't have much of a choice now, did he? "Well, thanks. I appreciate your help, Black."

"What are you looking for anyway? Anything interesting?" asked Orion.

"I'll share more details… when we're alone."

Rosier frowned, Orion smiled.

The boys exchanged a brief manly nod and that was it. Orion left towards the next class leaving Tom lost in his thoughts.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out what you're looking for, Riddle." Said Rosier, "Although it might take more than Orion Black…"

"Badmouthing your family already?"

"Hardly my family… my betrothal is still on hold…"

"And what would it be?"

"What?"

"What would I be looking for, Rosier?" He asked leaning slightly forward so that he could lower his voice and still be heard. She gulped a little and forced herself to hold her ground, though her eyes kept slipping to his lips, now curled in a smirk.

"Your… your family." She forced through her beautifully shaped lips. He shrugged one shoulder and held her intense gaze, "You're obviously looking for your origins. Only someone as stupid as Orion wouldn't have figured it out."

"So, does everyone else know?" Tom leaned back in his chair and saw the tension slowly leaving Druella's shoulders, although not completely.

"Any of us would be happy to help. We're family."

"Hardly…" He smiled. She rolled her eyes and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in a 'youknowwhatImean' expression.

"I have to do it myself."

"We know, well most of us do anyway…" She said jutting her chin at the direction Orion had left, "That's why we're not saying anything. Doesn't mean we wouldn't have the power to help if you asked…"

Tom nodded slowly, allowing his eyes to linger on her lips for a couple of beats, she diverted her gaze and gulped a little. How was it so easy to have anyone else blush but it always took so much effort with Hermione instead? It was quite frustrating…

"Are you listening?"

"Come again?"

"I said, can't you ask professor Granger about your parents?"

"No." He blurted out.

"How come? She might know something about them anyway… though I still barely believe she raised you… she looks not older than Walburga… maybe younger even…"

"She does, doesn't she?" Tom said with probably too obvious fondness, as Druella's gaze darkened a little and her flush faded, "She does know about them, about my parents, I'm sure. Still… I don't want to have to explain."

"Explain what?"

"Explain why I want to find out about them, why now."

"You're lucky she's a former Gryffindor..." huffed Rosier with a half-smile, which froze on her face when she met Tom's glare.

Luckily for her, Abraxas chose that exact moment to pop out of nowhere, catching Tom's attention.

"Orion was here moments ago," said Tom before the blonde boy could ask.

Abraxas smirked and made a gesture not to even mention it, so Tom didn't.

"I'm here for a different reason altogether, Riddle." Said the boy, he then stopped and glanced at Rosier briefly.

"Whatever you have to say, you can say in my prese…"

"Get lost, Rosier." Tom cut her off, without even looking in her direction.

He didn't need to see her pout to know it was there.

Abraxas returned to hold Tom's gaze as Druella rose and collected her stuff without another word. They both smiled when they heard her muttering a polite cuss as she bowed in farewell, before leaving at a brisk pace.

"I think you could teach Cygnus something about how to handle that one ... she is strangely obedient when you give the orders ..."

"If Cygnus wanted advice, he'd just have to ask."

"Who knows he won't soon ... I think at the moment he's more concerned with getting his hands on every Ravenclaw he can before his father signs the contract with Rosier's family officially ..."

"Uh ... boys or girls?"

"I don't think it makes any difference to him ... as long as they're older..."

"Oh, I would be careful what I say next, if I were you." Tom smiled.

Abraxas raised an eyebrow and curled his lips into a half smile.

"Oh yes, you and Cygnus have something in common don't you."

Tom allowed the joke and pointed to the chair Rosier had vacated. Abraxas nodded in thanks and took his seat.

These were the little gestures they allowed themselves in public. Small gestures that perfectly asserted Tom's superiority over the others.

Perhaps if someone had carefully studied Tom's interactions with his peers, they would have noticed the small step of difference between him and his 'friends', but no one ever looked long enough or well enough.

Tom treated his superiors as his peers and his peers as inferiors, without them ever fully realizing it.

He knew when to be friendly, when to be charming, when to be strict, when to be mean and when to turn violent. With time, he was only getting better at it.

In the first years of school he had had to put more effort into affirming his superiority.

He had had to work a little harder.

It had taken time to be the one with the highest grades, the most versed in the magical arts, the most praised by the teachers, the one the younger students would look up to and the older ones could rely on, the one both girls and boys would glance at when they thought him distracted by his own thoughts...

Once he had reached the top of the small social climb though, surprisingly enough, there had been no need to do anything more than enjoy the results of his efforts, as the rest of the school's hierarchical structure, or at least Slytherin's, had simply adapted, molding itself beneath him.

Perhaps, at least in part, the fact that he no longer had to strive to preserve his role, was due to the fact that being a leader came quite naturally to him. He didn't have to pretend too much, nor think about it.

However, he knew another big reason for the lack of competitors, was that those around him were quite relieved the command post had already been filled.

Many of the Slytherins, had lived crushed by the pressures and expectations of their families from an early age.

The fact that Tom had bothered to be in charge of the lot and that he was quite good at it, had taken away the problem of having to compete for the leadership position in the first place.

If any of those guys had wanted to take Tom's place, he was pretty sure there would be nothing else for him to do but hand over leadership. Sure, he was strong and powerful but his name was worth little and nothing, and it would be worth little and nothing for a while longer, at least until he had proof of his lineage.

However, he worried not, as no one seemed willing to oust him from his throne just yet and it felt like if that was ever to happen, it would have been too late already.

"So? What is it?" Tom asked absently leafing through the volume in front of him.

"There are rumors about your princess."

Tom raised an eyebrow without looking in Abraxas' direction but heard the boy fidget slightly in his chair, "Rumor has it that the Gryffindors are planning something for her, some sort of humiliating prank I would imagine, probably nothing too alarming… but I mean, it's up to you."

"Should I presume this has something to do with the duel still?"

Abraxas nodded.

"That and apparently she interrupted some idiotic little party of theirs, she took some points and confiscated alcohol ... nothing worth of retribution really ... but ... Gryffindors!" The boy shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"Sour losers…"

"Indeed." Agreed Abraxas, he ten pushed his tongue in his cheek and sucked it in before speaking again, "So, how should we manage it?"

"Ask Montague to figure out what the plan is without getting noticed ... wasn't he shagging one of the lionesses?"

"I think they 'broke up', but that's nothing that can't be fixed. Once he finds out?"

"You report to me and I'll let you know. I don't want to stir the waters too much if it's nothing worth worrying about. She can handle herself and with the Quidditch game approaching..." he trailed off.

Abraxas nodded.

"What else?"

"There is also a rumor… one of the young ones in Gryffindor… people say he might be... well ... a half giant ..." Abraxas said the words lowering his voice dramatically, as if it might have been some sort of blasphemy that innocent ears should be spared of. Which might have been as much as someone like Abraxas would be concerned.

As for Tom, he couldn't really give a flying fuck about such nonsense, but surely he wasn't going to say it out loud. Certain battles were just not worth fighting. He'd rather use all that hate to his own advantage. Hate and discrimination could be powerful tools in the right hands. His hands.

"I wonder if we won't see dogs sitting at the Gryffindors' table anytime soon… they might as well let the centaurs enroll at this point…"

Abraxas smiled amusedly, obviously satisfied with the shared outrage, but then his features hardened again, when he was obviously and suddenly reminded that he had more to say.

"So what about this… thing? Why do I care?" Asked Tom, acting out his best disgusted grimace.

Abraxas moved in closer and leaned slightly forward. He had a small scar on his left eyebrow, a fatherly gift received during the Christmas holidays for sure, because Tom was confident the white tissue hadn't been there before winter break.

Men… always so fucking disgusting and violent… predictably even more violent and disgusting with the ones who couldn't fight back.

Subtle rage pumped in his system and he had to struggle not to let it surface.

"Your… well, Professor Granger ... she seems not too bothered by the… it... Someone saw her helping the giant choose some books in the library, she was all smiles and..."

Tom nodded stiffly.

"Well… of course… She must feel sorry for the lesser creature, clearly, with ... with her gentle and sweet soul..." Abraxas stammered sweating under Tom's blank gaze, "However perhaps, she should limit her interactions with, well... "

"You don't have to worry about it, Malfoy." Tom had to force the words through the barrier of his clenched teeth, "She's a teacher and she's forced into certain interactions, I'm sure someone has turned it into a bigger deal that it actually was, I'll take care of it."

Abraxas said nothing more about the topic, his Adam's apple bobbed slightly and he played with his sleeves for a count of thirty seconds, as he waited for the vein in Tom's neck to stop throbbing so hard.

Convincing Hermione not to be seen around with this or that creature, just so as not to spread strange rumors, would have been like asking her to cut a limb off.

Not to mention that such a conversation would have made him a complete jerk in her eyes once and for all ... well fuck that. If she wanted to hug house elves next, she was welcome to do so, and if he had to obliviate the whole school afterwards, well… he'd do it.

"What happened to your forehead?" asked Tom, deciding he might not take his frustration out on Abraxas.

The blonde skimmed his brow with his fingers then combed his hair, as if that had been his intent all along. Tom snorted, Abraxas looked away sighing.

"I don't remember most of the fight, to be honest..."

"Brutus?"

"Who else? The old man still knows how to serve a fist 'o fives, I owe him that much..." he laughed bitterly.

"Is there anything I can do?" Asked Tom, slightly tilting his head to the side, "Should we… talk to him over the summer?" Because to be the leader you needed to know when to offer some reassurance too.

Abraxas shrugged.

"Sunday…" He offered pinning him with his extremely grey and prideful eyes, "We'll have a little gathering at the lake, will you join us or are you going to Hogsmeade?"

"Who's coming?"

"All the Slytherin boys and a couple of Ravenclaws…"

"I'll be there." Said Tom.

Abraxas didn't need to linger any longer, he got up, barely bowed, and left the library, smiling to himself just a little bit.

 **Hermione snorted** as the Quaffle landed easily in Tom's hands and a chorus of giggles exploded from the small group of girls sitting on the dock. They were just passing it around… they weren't even putting any effort in the game…

Plus it wasn't warm enough for those girls to sit there, dangling their naked legs over the dark water of the lake, but the boys didn't seem to mind the sight and the girls didn't seem to mind the cold.

Hermione shook her head. Freezing their bloody arses just to serve those inflated-ego maniacs Slytherins some more adulation… as if Tom's head wasn't big enough as it was already…

Who knew what those same girls would have thought if they had seen him refuse to take off his pajamas for two days just ''cause it's the weekend' or… or swallow half a pound of chocolates without even chewing.

Had they known he looked like a bloody boa constrictor when it came to chocolate. You'd have to be careful he wouldn't gulp down the wrappers too, as he could reach just that level of eagerness, and then rant like a crackpot and blame the rest of the world when he'd end up choking on some scrappy piece of paper.

Aberforth had had to hang him upside down once, to get him to spit out the colorful wrapper of a piece of candy… it had been terrifying and then hilarious, then terrifying again when Tom had recovered his voice and ranted for hours about Honeydukes and their lethal wrappings and if he had had the money to sue them and all that… he'd been chewing more chocolate sitting in Honeydukes' window merely hours later…

Maybe even Ron would have had a hard time keeping up with Tom's gorging pace, and Ron was a pretty disgusting sight at the dinner table when he'd put himself to it.

Another small chorus of giggles filled the crisp, cool Sunday air, and Hermione looked up again from the book on her lap, to peer in the direction of the lake, a bit annoyed with herself for getting so easily distracted.

Tom was telling something to Nott, it had to be something funny because he was doing that thing with his lower lip, that kind of little twitch of when he wanted to laugh but didn't want to ruin the end of a joke. Mulciber seemed to have already guessed the final pun, because he was doubled over with laughter and clapping loudly on the back of Abraxas Malfoy, who was desperately trying to escape Mulciber's big hands without managing to.

There was something both satisfying and stinging about watching that scene and Hermione wasn't sure what it was that was causing the negative feelings until she suddenly was.

She envied them.

Envied that carefree little group of students enjoying the very first signs of spring in the park. Not a care in the world. They could just be there. Be their own age, enjoy it. Enjoy the fluttering of their young hearts, all those new interesting feelings and needs.

All things she had been denied.

Hermione had once sat on that very same dock, with Harry, Ron, Seamus, Angelina, Katie, Ginny, the twins, Neville, Luna, Cho ... they had sung and danced, laughed and joked, Lee Jordan had passed by exchanging a few jokes with Harry about the last Quidditch match, Hermione had probably rolled her eyes at the topic. Draco Malfoy had been lying in the sun surrounded by his harem of adoring would-be concubines and Lavender had had a half heart attack on the unbuttoned button on Ron's chest ... maybe even Hermione had let her eyes peek at Ron's chest then... and maybe her cheeks had turned red and her heart had raced a little, but she wouldn't be sure.

It had lasted so little ... Hermione's adolescence had lasted just so little… she had barely had time to realize that her body was changing, that it was starting to demand for other types of attentions, and then BANG life had been all responsibility, war, running for your dear life and facing death way too many times, and destroying horcruxes and torture and...

And when it could have all been over, when she could've stopped and mourned and then found out that she had turned into half a woman in the meantime, L.M. had thought it fun to ship her arse over 60 years back into the past.

And life had turned into changing nappies, breaking fights, educating children, saving drunken matrons, cleaning, brushing, comforting, healing, going to church, looking at the world work its way to war again, and work, work and worry all the time… and then… more responsibilities...

Watching others live quietly that adolescence that she had been denied now, was… hurtful. It stung, it made her want to wear her school uniform and join them.

Fuck the world, the future… fuck it all. Pass the smuggled Firewhiskey this way!

She snorted. That would have probably never been her in the first place.

Who knew though, whispered a little voice from the back of her mind, maybe in a different life she'd have had the guts to bare her legs for the boys too, enjoy their furtive glances, giggle at the Tom Riddle or Cedric Diggory of the moment, and laugh too loud at someone's jokes just so she'd get some more attention.

She shook her head and returned her focus on the book. Runes. That should've been her focus right now. Runes.

But the voice at the back of her head kept uttering stupid questions, such as, would it ever be her turn to be a teenager? To be a woman? A girl? Was she going to ignore the fact that after all, her body was still the body of a seventeen-year-old? She did have all the right bits and pieces, all the urges and needs, didn't she?

Hermione exhaled.

She had been reading the same line for the past ten minutes.

She felt so foolish just for having those thoughts. With all that was going on, with all of the lives on the line, could she really worry about something as silly as a romantic life or adolescence?!

Maybe meeting Herbert the year before had messed up with her head. It had reminded her that she could still feel certain urges. That must have been it… some sort of breaking point… because until she had been reminded that she could feel all that still, she hadn't really thought of it.

But now here she was, sitting in the grass like an idiot, envying a group of girls and boys just because they could live their desires and changes at the right time.

Well… she might have been able to resume things with Ron whenever she'd find her way back home, she told herself resolutely fixing her gaze on the first line of the next page, for the umpteenth time.

Though now she barely remembered his face… it had been so long ago… He had turned into a reassuring and warm voice inside her head, just like Harry and everyone else. They were her safe world within, though she couldn't make out all of their faces anymore… not in detail anyway.

Her treacherous eyes travelled down the lake against her consent and any good sense.

Her cheeks warmed at the memory of a hoarse, desperate voice calling her name, cussing, gasping for air. She shouldn't have heard that. She really shouldn't have heard that. And why would it still echo within her brain when she refused to admit what she had undeniably heard that morning…

Hermione pressed her hands against her warm face and eyes and she groaned. She took a deep breath and peeked through her fingers.

The girls were calling from the dock, Tom was gesturing something in their direction, Abraxas was trying to drag him away. Nott was laughing, probably because Abraxas Malfoy barely reached Tom's chin in height and despite the effort, he hadn't managed to move the taller boy in the slightest.

He was really getting taller and taller… bit wider too… and who would've thought he'd started doing such things like…

Nope. She refused to think of him that way. A child. A child. The rational part of her was screaming out loud. A smug, chocolate-eating, annoying, spoiled brat…

Or a guy, just a couple of years younger than this body of yours… a guy who calls your name when... NO!

"You could have been sitting there with them ..."

"Jeez!" Hermione started at Dumbledore's voice, all the more flustered for the recent direction of her hazardous thoughts.

That man managed to appear out of nowhere without making the slightest noise every time. If it hadn't been silly to think so, Hermione would have believed that he was charming his shoes with the sole purpose of scaring her by suddenly appearing behind her back. He gave her an apologetic smile and she shrugged, bringing a hand on her chest, as if to make sure her heart would stay within the confines of her ribcage.

"What do you mean?" she asked looking back at the lake briefly. Tom and Nott were dragging Abraxas toward the water and threatening to thrown him in. The girls on the dock where yelling and laughing, more Slytherin boys cheered from the shore. A small group of Gryffindors curled their noses at the sight.

"You could have enrolled as a student, surely it would have made more sense with your appearance... instead ... an assistant ... I guess for the sake of our research?" Hermione didn't bother nodding, the answer was obvious, of course it had been for the research as well as to be able to keep an eye on Dumbledore… he knew that perfectly well. Douchebag.

"Do you regret it?"

As if Tom needed to be more confused about her role in his life ... as if she hadn't started to get confused about it herself.

"No." she only half lied, ignoring the wizard's stinging gaze.

"I think you do. I think you've been robbed of your childhood twice now, and you're starting to realize the thief of that childhood have been you all along… no one asked you to save the world, Mrs. Granger…"

"I don't need a shrink, thank you very much…" She snapped.

Well sometimes she could still sound very much like a teenager herself, couldn't she? She almost grinned at the sigh that escaped Dumbledore's lips at her harsh reply, "Did you have something else to discuss?".

"I did. Though I'm surprised I was even able to find you, weren't you spending Sundays in Hogsmeade?"

"Tom wanted to spend some time with his friends and I think I'm close to figure out the last rune." Hermione leafed through her book and pointed a finger when she found the page she was looking for. Dumbledore leaned forward slightly so he could peek over her shoulder.

"Oh, I see, Perenelle was right all along, wasn't she?" he muttered, "A customized rune ... perhaps a feeling?"

"A name," Hermione rectified, "But the base rune might be that of Time or Love, however, the symbols on the pendant would indicate an inconsistent number of accents in the second case... unless there was one more rune, but then it wouldn't make much sense…"

"It could depend on the customization, you shouldn't pay too much attention to accents, we could run a little test if you can figure out the rest of the symbol, or the main lines at least…"

Hermione nodded.

"Exactly what I thought too… were you able to get your hands on that Persian book we discussed?"

"Aye, no luck with that, but I do have a couple more people I could ask… I'm planning for a few trips." Hermione nodded once.

She knew that asking more questions about the people he was going to get in touch with, or the places he was going to go to, was no use.

Dumbledore just wasn't able to work in a group. He had his own ways and his own rhythms and she had pretty much given up on changing that by now. As long as he could come up with something useful in the end she didn't mind him doing things on his own.

"Nicolas wrote back," He announced after having stared at the rune with her for a while longer.

"Guess we got the same letter then."

"Well, then you already know Nott is working on the prototypes." Hermione nodded pursing her lips a bit.

"I don't think we can entrust such items to owls… I believe the pendants will have to be collected in person. Do you think you could do it?" He asked.

"I think so… Tom will spend part of the summer with the Blacks and the Malfoys, I guess I could use his absence for a quick trip to Paris. How many are there?" She asked, ignoring the silly panic that had gripped her belly at the thought of having to tell Tom she was going back to the Flamels. She shouldn't have cared about the whims of a jealous child and yet she couldn't help it.

Was she turning just plain stupid over time? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he looked less and less like a child ... with the fact that she felt less and less older than everyone else. Wrong train of thoughts, spat her logical brain glaring at her creeping stupidity.

"Two of the pendants are complete, but the third should be ready come July."

"Just three?" Hermione frowned.

"Three will be enough, I'm not even sure the sand will be enough as is." Said Dumbledore frowning at their chances, "And we better hope it is because getting more of that would require another trip to Romania itself… Merlin knows how hard it would be to find the source of the Sand all over again…" Dumbledore looked away from her and fixed his gaze back on the group of Slytherins on the lake shore.

Whenever the man looked at Tom, Hermione felt the ridiculous need to cover his eyes with her hands or to stare even harder, as if to counter any negative energy Dumbledore might be sending to the boy.

They fell silent for a while, until Hermione couldn't help but to ask the question that had bugged her brain in the past few weeks, although she knew that the answer would be neither comprehensive nor sincere.

"Why did you give him that book?" She asked quietly.

Dumbledore smirked but did not turn to her.

"What book?"

"I thought I asked to borrow it months ago, and what was it you told me? The book has disappeared from the library ... something like that."

"Oh! Hogwarts a History, well I'm glad we know where it is then."

"Indeed… too bad it is exactly where I was hoping it wouldn't be… what is it with you and that boy? Is it my fault you are so obsessed with him?"

Of course, Dumbledore didn't say any more. It was strange enough that he hadn't walked away at the first mention of Tom, as he usually did.

Hermione ventured a puzzled glance at the professor, but his gaze had turned completely blank and his lips had sealed in a straight line. That expression, she had learned by now, meant he wasn't going to have that conversation. She could've pestered him as long as she had wanted but those lips weren't about to come lose any time soon. So Hermione spared herself the effort.

He'd never share any of the important stuff.

It was just so frustrating to watch him weave his plots.

If only he'd just asked her whatever it was he wanted to know… who could've helped him better than her? She was literally from the future…

She wondered whether the Dumbledore from the future had been just as secretive and scheming as this one. Maybe he had she decided. Maybe he had and she had just failed to notice it or he had simply gotten better at hiding it.

Hermione shrugged at the wizard's stubborn silence and glared at her own feet.

Well… he could keep his secrets for now.

She didn't know why Dumbledore meant to make Tom look for the Chamber of Secrets (which seemed to be one of the plausible reasons for giving that book to Tom), but whatever it was he thought he could achieve, Hermione would make sure she'd be one step ahead of him.

During the first few weeks after returning from the Christmas holidays, Hermione had already begun a series of procedures to seal the entrance to the Chamber with curses worthy of the sweat of even the most seasoned sorcerers.

Also, she would've kept adding wards and curses, until the magic in the castle would have allowed her to, because, why not? If history had taught her something, it was that one never had enough back-up plans!

In fact, curses and magic apart, she had also insisted Apollyon Pringle (the caretaker), would accept the four large roosters she had suddenly felt the urge to gift him with.

It had been the most uncomfortable conversation she had probably ever had, because Mr. Pringle had barely ever spoken to Hermione before that, and he had had some reserve in accepting the four large and quite rebellious birds. Luckily in the end, he had given in, not hiding some concern for Hermione's sanity though.

Hermione had also met a very young and very shy Hagrid (a meeting that had cost her three sleepless nights of crying and violent visceral homesickness) and she had sworn to herself, to keep an eye on him and his' pets' from afar.

Not that she wouldn't have loved to spend as much time as possible with her future friend, a man who had fought with her in the war, who had cried and celebrated with her… it was more that she had heard how quickly the rumors about her fraternizing with the half-giant had spread among Slytherins, and if there was one thing she didn't want, was for Tom's attention to linger on Hagrid more than it was strictly necessary, for the sake of both boys really.

The only one Hermione still had a hard time making up a plan for, was Moaning Myrtle ... who was still just Myrtle Warren at the moment... but she'd surely think of something.

"Oh, blessed youth… I guess we should do something about that." Dumbledore's voice tore Hermione from her thoughts and she followed his gaze back to the shore.

"Dear Merlin!" Hermione jumped up on her feet and stood on her toes blinking rapidly at the chaotic scene before them.

The girls, that just until a while ago had been sitting on the dock, had apparently broke ranks and invaded the boys' area.

Abraxas Malfoy had straight up jumped into the Black Lake, apparently less scared by the possibility of meeting the Giant Squid than by that of ending up in the clutches of an hormonal bunch of Slytherin girls, now screaming from the shore and trying to lure him back to dry land.

Nott, Mulciber and a couple more boys where laughing, standing next to a little group of Ravenclaw girls and they were pointing amusedly at something in the grass.

The 'something in the grass' turned out to be, upon closer inspection, none other than Tom Riddle, missing his cloak and half of his shirt and buried under quite an aggressive horde of second-years giggling fans.

"Let's go, before they manage to tear off some of his limbs together with his clothes and before young Malfoy trespasses into mermaid territory, they tend to be particularly aggressive in the first days of Spring and I don't know whether you've had the pleasure to meet him yet, but I assure you, Brutus Malfoy can be quite intense…"

"Did I do something?"

"Nope."

"I definitely did something ..." he said dragging each word and lowering his face to the dining table to get a better look at Hermione's face. She purposely tilted her face down, the tip of her nose was basically brushing against the pages of her book now, but at least this shielded her from those intense eyes of his.

"Nope." she repeated, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the pages, even though they were now so close she could hardly make out the letters, let alone the words.

Tom sighed.

His chair creaked under his weight when he pushed himself against the backrest and started rocking back and forth, balancing himself on the back legs of the chair.

"Is it because I got an E instead of an O in Transfiguration ...? You know Dumbledore will never give me an O ... it's not my fault I'm not a Gryffindor!" he asked, pulling one of his curls between his index and thumb, and then letting it bounce back in place.

"It's not about your grades, although, Tom, it is quite ridiculous you'd get an E when I'm teaching the bloody subject." He rolled his eyes, she didn't see him but she knew anyway.

"So what is it for then?"

"What?" She sighed.

"You said 'it's not about your grades', so what is it about? Why are you mad?"

"I'm not mad, now eat your pie and go back to studying."

"I finished my pie ages ago, and I also ate yours because you hardly looked at it and I felt it was such a waste..."

Hermione jerked the book down, but her slice of apple pie was still on her plate, nibbled, but there. Tom landed back on the four feet of his chair with a dull thud, he was grinning.

"Ha ha ... very funny."

"As if I didn't know you could kill for a slice of apple pie..." he snorted running a hand through his raven black curls.

Hermione took a bite of said pie, and went back to hide behind the large leather-bound volume.

If she had to be completely honest, she wasn't quite sure about the nature of her bad mood either… she knew there were several reasons for her to feel the way she felt, but she also knew all of her worries were slightly magnified because of the one thing she was afraid to actually put out there, which should have been the silliest of the bunch by the way.

This feeling of hers was ridiculous and irrational and weird.

So Hermione's plan had been that of eating all of her worries in the form of the amazing apple pie Aberforth had baked and just pretend that everything was fine.

It might have even worked if it hadn't been for Tom.

"Oh come on! What have I done ?!" Tom slipped his index finger into the fold of the book and pushed it down onto the surface of the table and away from her face.

Possibly, in hindsight, that was the exact instant it all snapped.

The point of no return.

"You didn't do anything, I just want to read my book and eat my pie and then go back to school when you're done with your homework!"

"Yes ... and I am Merlin's younger brother ... you are angry and I don't know why and you are driving me crazy with this silence and ..."

"Well, you always complain that I talk too much ..."

"... so now you'll tell me what it is that I did to cause such a reaction, so I can apologize and we can stop with the nonsense... or was it someone else? Did someone do something to you?"

"... so maybe you should enjoy the moments of silence and appreciate that ..."

"... I swear 'Mione, if I have to find out for myself, you won't like wha..."

"… AS if I could never just be having a bad day! When most of the time you are moody and snappy and it's not like I..."

"And IF it's just those days of the month, well then fuck it, you can just tell me and I ..."

"… not even complaining! It could just be so easy but you know what, doesn't even matter, because, OF COURSE, the world revolves around you! The world revolves around Tom Riddle and his stupid gang ..."

"So IT IS my fault, then?! I KNEW IT! And what does my gang have to do with it ... and ... Oh, fuck me, Hermione, if this is about the lake thing again..."

"...ol it felt?! Not only do I have to hear Dippet's rant on the way I handle students, but I'm also lectured on the way I brought you up! As if I would ever teach you such inappropriate..."

"CHRIST, it's for the lake again! I knew it was the lake! As if I enjoyed being practically raped in front of the whole school!"

"WELL, it didn't seem to bother you too much either!"

It just slipped out of her lips viciously and too fast for her to stop.

Hermione choked on the next breath and widened her eyes into Tom's shocked ones, putting a shaky hand on her lips as if hoping she could somehow bring the words back in and erase the past five seconds…

"What… what did you just say?" He asked halfway between amused and offended.

"Nothing! Can I just finish the fucking pie in peace and ..."

"Oh no ... no ... the fucking pie is the least of your problems now, believe me, what is it about me and rape you said there?" his eyes narrowed and his lips twitched.

"Tom, I didn't mean… I'm sorry, I'm tired, I'm nervous and I'm not in the mood..."

There was a short pause, during which Tom seemed to be deciding whether to drop the argument or not. Something akin to euphoria seemed to flash on his face but Hermione told herself she might have only imagined it, because the next moment he was a mask of blind anger.

"No! Now I'm the mad one and we're getting to the bottom of it! You've been giving me shit for a week and just because..."

"You don't listen, you never listen, now you've made your mind up about this being about the fucking lake, which by the way…"

"And if you're jealous maybe you should admit it to yourself instead of acting like a crazy bitch and take it out on…"

"Why do I always have to be AFRAID of ...? WHAT?! JEALOUS! HA! Now you're talking nonsense!"

Jealous, Hermione? Of whom? A chocolate-eating brat? Pff ... He wished!

"NO NO NO, YOU GET TO THE END OF THAT SENTENCE NOW! WHAT IS IT YOU ARE AFRAID OF?"

"I'LL GET TO THE END OF IT IF YOU SHUT YOUR TRAP FOR FIVE SECONDS!"

"What the heck is going on in here?" Aberforth was standing under the threshold of the dining room, wand in one hand and a filthy tea towel in the other, looking from Hermione to Tom as if they'd been playing a tennis match.

"NOTHING" they both thundered glaring at each other.

"I swear you two… I don't even… two frigging children… and I don't… and… tearing down the Inn, for Salazar's sake!" Aberforth left muttering to himself and shaking his head.

"What. Would. You. Be. Afraid. Of?" Tom breathed out each word, breaking the tense truce as soon as the sound of Aberforth's steps faded.

"To talk! We've gotten to the point where I'm afraid to even talk with you Tom, because I know that you will get your own idea of the facts and you won't listen and in the end I'll have to be the mean one, while you'll be entitled to storm off and yell and be a fucking hormonal teen about it... and I should have just the same right! And if I feel like being silent and childish and broody then I get to be just that and…"

"What are you talking about? Do you hear yourself!? You don't even make sense anymore!"

"I'm going back to France next summer." she blurted out, only then realizing that they had both jumped to their feet sometime in the middle of their argument, and that they both had their hands on the table, as if they were using it to support the weight of their anger, or as if threatening to jump over and attack the other any minute now.

"It would be just for a few w…" but she stopped on the clicking sound of Tom's jaw.

There was a beat of silence, then hell broke loose on Earth.

"THEHELLYOU'REGOINGTOFRANCE!" Tom roared.

"I KNEW I COULDN'T EVEN SAY IT!"

"I SWEAR TO GOD I'M ABOUT TO JUMP OVER THERE, HERMIONE.."

"WELL JUMP! I DARE YOU! I'MMA CURSE YOUR ARSE SO FAST…"

"I'MMA FUCKING SNAP THAT WAND OF YOURS SO QUICK…"

"HOPE YOU'RE PROUD OF YOUR REACTION! YOU KNOW WHAT!? SCREAM AS MUCH AS YOU WANT! IN FACT, WHY DON'T YOU START BLEEDING ALL OVER THE PLACE WHILE YOU'RE AT IT!?"

If she had slapped him straight in the face, she wouldn't have gotten the same reaction.

Tom literally froze. He froze so suddenly that her first thought was that she might have broken him for good. Though that thought only lasted long enough for her to register it.

He looked completely astonished.

Probably because she had never really had to raise her voice so much. Probably because she had never felt the need to. Probably because she'd always been too afraid to.

He'd always been a child to her, a broken child, a porcelain doll she needed to handle with care… and now? And now she wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to be or what he really was, but he looked like he could handle a bit of a jolt.

Their eyes locked and she had the feeling that she wasn't the only one noticing how their relationship was somehow shifting right there and then, inevitably sliding towards something different and unknown.

That change was subtle but palpable.

Tom thawed first from his shock and broke the silence.

"God, you're just unbelievable… Are you seriously going to run into that loser's arms just because you can't admit you're jealous?! What the fff… what the fffuck, Hermione!? When are you going to stop playing 'the mommy'? Who the hell ever asked you to…"

"I'm not playing th…"

"YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER, SO STOP FEELING FUCKING GUILTY ALL THE TIME, AND STOP BLAMING IT ON ME TOO WHILE YOU'RE AT IT!"

It took her three attempts to finally find her voice again, when she did, she gasped inwardly, because on any other occasion, this would have been the point where she would have given up, calmed down and tried to be the mature one.

On any another occasion, she would have tried to make Tom think clearly... maybe she would have found a good compromise for both of them, talked it out… not this time. Nope. Hermione was apparently unable to stop this, whatever 'this' was.

"I'm not… I'M NOT RUNNING ANYWHERE! And I'm surely not running into anyone's arms! If you'd let me get to the end of a single sentence before biting back like a frigging snake, maybe we could talk like normal people! And… You're just fucking deluding yourself if you think I'd be jealous of a screaming CHILD who can't even listen! I might not be your 'mom' but you keep acting like a baby, so don't YOU blame ME if that's the case!"

"WELL I'M LISTENING NOW, AREN'T I? SO, TALK! WHY THE HELL SHOULD YOU GO BACK TO FRANCE?"

Hermione paused to catch her breath.

Her blood was boiling and her cheeks felt scorching. She couldn't think straight. She could barely think at all.

This was all new. New and thrilling for some odd reason.

It felt like she was being shaken out of a daze that had lasted for ages.

She wasn't even sure why they were screaming so much anymore… but it was… refreshing.

Screaming and ranting and take it out on the world. God, she had missed this and she hadn't even known. Could anger be something healthy too?

Tom's chest was rising and falling at a frightening rate, his nostrils were dilated, his face was as red as Hermione supposed hers was, and he had a vein in his neck that looked like it was about to explode. She hoped she was looking at least half as threatening as he was.

And it hit her that Tom was seething and probably angrier than he had ever been, but was still there. He hadn't stormed out nor toppled the table, he hadn't exploded nor suddenly turned into a snake-like monster.

"The Flamels invited me for the summer ..." stammered Hermione, slightly embarrassed at lower pitch of her voice now "They started an interesting research and I thought it'd be nice to spend some time with them and... well, last year I left without as much as a goodbye after living with them for a whole year… so I guess I owe it to them to at least drop by. You will be at Black's anyway so I don't get what… "

"Will he be there?!" Tom interrupted her, she could tell he was struggling not to scream just because she had dramatically lowered her own voice.

Hermione pursed her lips in a line and frowned.

"Herbert?"

"Why the hell would I remember his fucking name. HIM. WILL HE be there?" He knew the name. He would have heard her whisper it from miles away… she had nightmares about having to say it out loud in his presence for Merlin's sake.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself not to snort.

"Yes. Herbert Flamel will be there. It would be me, Perenelle, Herbert and Nicolas."

"How long?" Tom was so angry that his whole body was shaking and Hermione feared that at any moment now, despite his best efforts, his liver would've just burst.

If she hadn't been just as angry as he was for once, and mostly at herself for never having any idea how to deal with certain topics with him, she might have felt sorry for him.

"A couple of weeks, in July." She said through gritted teeth.

"All right."

"All right." She repeated then looked at him gaping, "What?"

"I said, okay. Enjoy your vacation." He repeated.

"You're… you're not going to do crazy things to get revenge on whatever you think I'm going to do, Tom." She warned.

"No. I won't." he basically growled.

"Have you had a stroke… or are you being serious?" she asked then, a little taken aback by his words. If looks could have killed, his next glare would have erased her from the face of the planet.

"Look I'm trying to be the mature one but if you keep pushing my buttons I'm happy to walk around the table and show you what I really think about your vacation in FuckingParis."

"Ok." She said stupidly, not even bothering to try and analyze his absurd threat. She sat back down in her chair, her legs strangely soft under his sharp gaze.

Her hearth started thumping senselessly in her ears again, though lacking any true anger now.

They were silent for a moment longer before she decided to speak again.

"There's nothing between me and Herbert Flamel."

She had no idea about why it was so important that he knew that. She had already won the argument. She had won the first argument ever and she was about to ruin it with her bleeding Gryffindor heart, wasn't she?

"Eat your fucking pie, Hermione."

"I'm serious though ... there's nothing between us. There never was anything. I didn't lie to you Tom, I just… did not."

Hermione picked her brain trying to figure out why couldn't she just eat her fucking pie and shut up, as he had cleverly suggested.

Perhaps she had always been so afraid that his anger would necessarily awaken an ancient monster in him, that she wouldn't be happy until he calmed down...

Or was it because, secretly, it had always bugged her that he'd never believed her about the matter of Herbert anyway? She also suspected that had little to do with the fear that their mistrust could have been a weapon in Dumbledore's hands.

"I didn't lie." She insisted when he still said nothing.

Perhaps she was just an idiot who couldn't let herself win a single argument without feeling guilty about it? Despite the fact that he had clearly survived her outburst anyway, it still felt like she had to offer for something in return…

Or perhaps, suggested a voice from deeper down, a voice Hermione wasn't ready to call her own, it was because she had been very much fucking-jealous.

Perhaps she had bristled at the sight of girly hands tearing at Tom's shirt at the lake shore.

Perhaps, now that she had gotten to taste a bit of the jealousy he had gulped down for years, according to him anyway, she felt guilty talking about Paris without making sure he knew she was being honest...

She blinked at those thoughts and dismissed them at once, because absolutely-no-frigging-way this was about that.

After what felt like forever, Tom finally tore his eyes away from her, breaking his stillness.

"Tom ..." She called him in such a faint voice that she wasn't sure he heard her or just turned back to look at her because he wanted to, "I didn'…"

"I've heard you, there was nothing between you and that fucking guy. Fine. I believe you. Now just shut up and eat your pie."

He bit his lower lip and ran his hands through his hair, then dropped back into his chair and deflated slightly, exhaling loudly before returning to hold her gaze.

She didn't move though.

"Tom...?"

"What the fuck is it, Hermione ?! Merlin knows, I can just handle it up to a certain point..."

"I'm not jealous."

His eyebrows rose in a befuddled expression before he was able to stop them.

"You are. And you're a lunatic too." He spat, "Just. Eat. That. Pie. And. Shut. Up."

"Meh… then maybe just a normal amount… like just up to here." She said setting an invisible, ridiculously low, bar with her hand.

His eyes softened at the silliness in her tone. The heaviness surrounding them was suddenly lifted, and Hermione felt the grip on her stomach ease marginally.

"Jealous... of a couple of second years ... could you be any more of a loser…" he scoffed and then finally the corners of his lips curled back into a smirk at the sight of the faint blush on her cheeks.

"I take back even that little amount, then!" She smiled, "HEI!"

But it was too late, her slice of pie was gone in a couple of bites.

"That was my pie!"

Tom leaned forward with a sudden movement, in a second he was just inches away from Hermione's face, close, very close, too much perhaps.

Again, like that time in the hallway at Christmas, Hermione's stomach gave a strange twist and it squeezed as if it were trying to dissociate itself from the rest of her and she didn't pull back.

"You should've eaten it till you had a chance." He laughed and his teeth where so straight and sharp and his eyes too blue. His breath smelled of cinnamon and apples and shortbread and cane sugar. And it sounded like he was talking about something else entirely.

Hermione's lungs burned and she let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding until then. Tom's eyes lingered on her lips as they parted to take a quick gulp of air.

"Ya' jealous." He laughed pressing a sugary sticky digit on the tip of her nose mockingly, then he pulled himself back and away from her abruptly.

The air against Hermione's face suddenly lost all the heat and tension.

The smell of apple pie and sweat and mint that had come with his proximity vanished with him and there was only a disorienting cold.

Hermione's stomach reached up to grab her heart and pull it down into the depth of her belly.

NO. She almost yelled it out loud. No. That was an order. NO.

"N… I… wha… I can't believe it, you ate my pie, do you have a death wish or something?!"

"Where are you going?" He asked when she quickly moved the chair and tucked her book under her arm.

"To get another slice! You thief! A frigging boa constrictor! That's it… that's what you are…"


	8. Riddikulus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> As always, thank you all so very much for your support, for your reviews and for the enthusiasm. It really means a lot to me!  
> I wanted to update the story quite badly, so I may not have been very accurate with the spell check! In the next few days I will definitely review it a little more thoroughly and I will try to fix the text where possible.  
> If you notice any major misspellings, please let me know so I can fix them for you!  
> Hope you will enjoy the new chapter!  
> Let me know what you think :)  
> Love,  
> M.

**Chapter 8: Riddikulus**

**There was something disorienting** and straight up surreal about watching one's memories through other people's eyes.

It was less about just remembering a certain event and more about having to relive said event while also dealing with the observer's feelings about it.

The angle was different too, not quite right, as if it were slightly shifted, it allowed a wider view, which was somehow disturbing in a sense. Not pleasant at all.

It could be overwhelming for a beginner, especially if the beginner had a history of not being able to deal with his own feelings in general.

Tom could barely distinguish one from another on his best days… and this… this was all too much…

"You're doing it again, Riddle, focus."

He couldn't do it… couldn't possibly concentrate on compartmentalizing, not like that.

"Shut the fuck up, you're distracting me."

"Don't you blame me… You're doing a fine job with that yourself... just push me out already!"

Tom glared, pressure surely wasn't helping.

The more he feared being laid bare, the more anxious he grew to occlude, the less his thoughts would let themselves be gathered neatly behind his walls… which only fueled more anger making the whole process more complex.

"Anger again… you're on a damn roll with all of these feelings… focus!"

DamnFuckShit…

He was trying. He really was.

A new memory begun taking shape though and his focus dissolved as he found himself staring at a very young version of himself.

Young-Tom was huddled on the steps of the orphanage, his face contracted in the effort to hold back the tears blurring his vision.

Young-Tom's lower lip was split. There was an angry bite mark on his arm. His shirt was torn. The delicate skin of his face was red and scraped from all the rubbing of the monster's stubble.

Tom knew that the only reason young-Tom hadn't ran further away was the blind pain in his cracked ribs.

He knew how every step from the storage closet to those damned steps, had made his lungs burn as if he had been trying to breathe in needles and pins instead of oxygen.

He could almost feel it all over again.

The memory was extremely vivid, indelibly engraved in his brain in every painful detail, enriched with someone else's concern about what would happen next, which was hella distracting right now.

He tried diverting his gaze from himself and focusing again.

Focus. Focus. Ffffu… Focus!

The whole landscape flickered and the scene blurred.

Tom heard himself groan, he could feel the vein in his temple throb under his skin.

He pushed and pushed the thoughts in the far back.

A static buzz was humming in his ears. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Just a bit more. Just…

His stomach folded in on itself as he heard the orphanage door creak open and his walls crumbled just like that. The scene now bright and vivid before his eyes.

Martha was staring at him, her cheeks were flushed as she fidgeted under the threshold.

God, he hated her, he hated her with all his might, hated her voice, her stupid accent, her incompetence and ignorance, her very essence.

Tom wished he could just slap her asinine face and get some payback for his torments, present and past ones.

"If only our Lawd would call upon you once an 'faw all an' let 'you res' in piece, Rob Roy ..." She sighed.

Funny how that was the greatest display of compassion Martha was probably capable of, at least when it came to Tom.

Perhaps even funnier, was the fact that Tom's compassion bar was set so low before Hermione existed, that Martha's wishing for his death had sounded almost comforting to his child self, it was painfully obvious in the way his features relaxed into blissful awe at the mention of some sort of 'Lord' who could have felt generous enough to put an end to his sufferings.

"He's not done wiv yer, yer Demon Rob Roy."

Young Tom frowned slightly and lost control over his tears. He spilled a couple of fat ones and rushed to wipe them away from his red cheeks, sniffling loudly.

His small shoulders sagged in resignation as Martha approached slowly.

"'E is pissed ou' ov 'is mind" She informed him, slipping her hands under his armpits to try and lift him up on his feet.

Child-Tom bit his already split lip and squeezed his eyes shut, mentally praying to turn into a heavy boulder.

"Riddle, focus." Tom whirled around to see Walburga staring at him from the orphanage courtyard.

Fuck, right. How long had he let her just stand there and watch? He tightened his grip on his wand.

FocusFocusFo…

Tom saw Martha effortlessly get ahold of little Tom and drag him back inside.

His mind moved to follow before he could help it, deaf to his groaning and growling.

Blind rage descended upon his eyes in the form a thin red veil as he realized where the memory was going, he was leading Walburga exactly where he wished she wouldn't have access.

"Riddle, Merlin, occlude ... occlude now." Walburga's voice had grown noticeably frantic.

"Fuck, I'm trying! I'm trying... shut up, relax and lemme… JUST LET HIM GO!" Tom's thoughts were only getting more tangled with the girl's growing agitation.

He barely even noticed himself snapping at the Martha from his memories.

"RIDDLE"  
"I'MFUCKINGTRYING"  
"ARE NOT"  
"IAM!"

Several more memories started flashing before his eyes, glitching in with the one Walburga was currently drowning them into.

Dennis was carving something in his back with a blade, it made an odd sound when it cut through the skin on his spine and Tom felt sick in his stomach, or Walburga did, he wasn't sure anymore.

Donald kicked a dead rat, the hideous carrion bounced against Tom's shoes and white greasy maggots rolled out of it, young-Tom doubled over and threw up. Donald grinned.

Amy was screaming at him, throwing things at him, he didn't want to sleep with the boys, he wanted to sleep with her, but she just wouldn't have it. "What in the bloody hell is going on up there?", Tom saw Amy's eyes widen at the sound of Mr. Wool's voice, a slow grin spreading on her lips.

"Please… don't."

Tom knew he must have been drenched in sweat by now, he could feel it drip down his back, his hair were completely soaked and it was getting cold, so cold.

"Try harder, Riddle, focus, Merlin! I don't… How do I get out?! Let me out!"

"The… fuck… wait… I just… I'm trying… I can do it… IcandoitIcandoit!" But he couldn't, could he? Seconds ago she had been barely brushing the surface of his mind, and now? They had plunged in deeper than he thought even possible.

He was getting too distracted maybe he should've just…

The metallic sound of a belt buckle struck his eardrum and Tom went limp.

"What made you think we were done, Tommy?" rotten teeth, the familiar stench of cheap alcohol, "Lock the door, Tommy."

That nickname sent a shiver down Tom's back.

Mr. Wool had both thumbs tucked into the waistband of his trousers and Tom started hyperventilating.

"Come here, Tommy."

"Back off, Black." Tom ordered, unable to take his eyes off the scene that Walburga was desperately trying not to look at instead.

"Riddle, please, please, focus!"

"No ... I can't! Fuck, I can't! Back off!"

"YOU ARE NOT EVEN TRYING!"

"GET OUT!"

"I WOULD IF I COULD!"

"Open up, Tommy."

"I SAID GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

"Tommy."

"OCCLUDE IT FOR SALAZAR SAKE!"

"STUPEFY!"

Tom heaved a sigh so deep that he thought he'd blow his lungs out.

For a while the only sound in the room was their heavy breathing as Tom recovered from the shock and panic and Walburga from the impact of the stunner, which had barely hit her, but still hard enough to bring her to her knees.

"Are you joking? You just stupefied my arse, Riddle…"

"You left me no choice."

"As if I had any control over my own invasion… I don't know how easy it is for you to get in and out of other people's minds, but I assure you, is no walk in the park for me… how did I even get that far?!"

Tom shrugged and took off his shirt. He rolled his eyes when the older girl widened hers.

"Not trying to woo you, I'm bloody drenched…" he laughed using the shirt to dab the sweat from his neck and then dropping it on a chair nearby, "Are you ok? Can you stand?"

"Don't need to take off your shirt to woo me, Riddle, there's enough emotional trauma in that outrageously handsome head of yours that even I wouldn't mind play nurse with you… though the nurse I have in mind is slightly different from Rosier's… is she still playing the naïve innocent best friend thing? Is it working?"

She accepted his hand and let herself be pulled back to her feet.

"It is, isn't it? You do have a soft spot for the innocent looking ones, don't you?" She grinned, he ignored her, "So, how come a natural Legilimens sucks so much at Occlumency?" She asked lifting the hem of her skirt to gauge the severity of a small scrape on her left knee.

"Bites me…" Tom threw his wand on a desk and stretched the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders.

"Well, figure it out, I don't particularly enjoy going through your horrible Muggle childhood."

Walburga licked a finger and used her spit to get rid of the small blood droplets smudged around the tiny cut on her knee. She hissed quietly, then seemed to decide it wasn't that big of a deal and dropped her skirt.

"I didn't enjoy the sight of your uncle exploring your knickers either, but you don't see me complaining that much, do you?"

Walburga made a face and went to sit on the desk where they had left the pitcher of pumpkin juice and the chocolate.

Tom nodded briefly when she gestured to his empty glass.

"So, has no one else made any progress with Leglimancy? One'd think at least Nott would have figured it out by now… the swot."

"Only you so far… Guess this is the price to pay for having brilliant mind. Suck it up." Tom smiled accepting the juice and chugging it enthusiastically.

Some of the liquid escaped the corners of his lips and ran down his chin.

He pretended not to notice Walburga's eyes following the drops down his throat, just as she had pretended not to see his eyes go up her legs just before.

"Well ... hopefully, it'll be worth it… can't promise not to curse your arse if you hit me again though."

Tom lifted an eyebrow at her words, but did not deign her foolish threat with any more than that. Walburga blushed a little and busied herself with drinking some more of her juice.

"I just don't get why it is that I can't block it… I mean I can literally see the reverse mechanism when I enter other people's minds… it looks extremely easy… yet…"

"It may be your emotions, Riddle, they're all over the place… oh don't give me the 'sexy Riddle glare'. I'm just saying it as I see it. Whenever I manage to breach through the surface, it's… overwhelming… you may blame my feelings meddling in with yours, though I swear… yours are way too intense… no half measures in there. It's a lot to take in, I can't imagine trying to focus in that raging mess of emotions..."

Tom sucked on his lower lip and held Walburga's gaze.

"So, what would you suggest?"

She shrugged a shoulder and resumed.

"Perhaps you could focus on… a smaller goal? If you can't completely hide all of your thoughts, you could try selecting them first. Like ... allow the intrusion but in selected and well-defined areas."

"Smaller goals… I don't know… seems like we're deliberately making it harder than it should be. It should come just as easy as…"

"Oh, poor Riddle," She snarled, cutting him off, "Something doesn't come naturally to him right away! Wouldn't want to be the one breaking it to you, but you're human too, you know? You too, are going to have to actually make an effort to learn something new every now and then."

Tom scoffed.

Truth was, Walburga's wasn't such a terrible idea… it did bother him to no end admitting it, but it might have led somewhere indeed.

He could've started smaller, then move on to work on improving his overall control.

Perhaps, he could set a series of intermediary steps, break the process down in even smaller steps if he needed…

This was not at all disappointing and frustrating as hell, he scowled at his own eagerness.

If only he could've found a way to ask Hermione. After all, he had never been able to peek inside her head, and not for lack of trying. Perhaps she could've even guided him through the whole process. She was obviously quite good at Occluding her own thoughts and she'd never deny him knowledge… would she?

Tom exhaled, snorting softly.

Sure, ask Hermione, so she can be reminded once again of how Leglimancy has been the main cause of the 'Cave'.

The last thing he wanted was for her to think about that one Summer... especially now that things between them seemed to be changing and drifting in a new exciting direction. Especially now, that they were so uncertain about everything and assessing their new dynamics.

He surely didn't want to remind her of his 9-year-old self, not when she finally seemed to be noticing the shortening of their age and physical span… not when she would have spent the summer away from him and… with that fucker…

No.

He would've figured it out himself. Hopefully, it wouldn't have taken too long either.

Tom sighed and stirred his thoughts back to Walburga's suggestion.

He needed to start testing her theory and training asap.

If someone as inexperienced as Walburga was already able to mess with him, albeit only occasionally being able to dig that deep and completely unintentionally, Tom dreaded at the thought of what someone as good as himself might have been able to do with the things inside his head.

"Where was Professor Granger?" Walburga asked, shaking him from his reasoning.

"What do you mean?"

"Why could those slimy Muggles torture you undisturbed, where was Granger? Didn't you grow up with her?"

"Where were your parents when your uncle was rummaging through your underwear?"

If that had been Rosier, Tom might have expected tears. Walburga huffed a laugh, and looked away.

Tom didn't like sharing things about himself and, as much as he was concerned, he and Walburga had already grown closer than he was comfortable with.

It was inevitable with all that entering each other's minds, but it didn't mean he liked it. Why would he have wanted to share even more and when it wasn't strictly necessary nonetheless…?

Although, if he had to be fair, Walburga had proved to be a loyal and reliable ally up until now.

She hadn't snitched on him once, not even when he had nearly snapped her wrist in the heat of chasing her out from a particularly nasty memory involving a butcher, a piece of chicken and a particularly sharp billhook.

Tom sighed.

"She wasn't in the picture… wasn't there yet." He said, forcing the words out of his teeth.

The older girl nodded and started braiding her black curls, lazily twisting them between her long fingers.

Her nails were painted red, he didn't like it.

Tom didn't like it when girls painted their fingers.

Hermione never did.

Her hands were always clean, her nails where short and neat, slightly almond shaped.

If he asked nicely enough, she'd use them to scratch his back and the nape of his neck while he read to her. Utter bliss.

"So what happened to the old arse then?" asked Walburga, curling the corner of her lips into a half smile when she saw Tom do the same.

"Well… she did come into the picture eventually..." Tom said unable to hide his smugness, "She took care of him… of all of them actually."

"Cheers to our badass professor then!" Walburga raised her glass and Tom copied the movement.

"What about your uncle?" He asked, realizing this sharing-thing was probably supposed to go both ways.

The smile faded from Walburga's lips and she put on her tough mask again.

"Oh, Riddle, haven't you noticed? They do look quite alike…"

Tom scrunched his nose up in a disgusted grimace and Walburga barked a bitter laugh.

"Orion's father?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, the father-in-law!"

Walburga cackled, Tom diverted his gaze, finding nothing funny in that depressing statement. Was there anyone with a normal family among the people he knew?

"So, Riddle ... are you putting your shirt back on or is this my lucky day? Am I allowed to play nurse? Cheer you up a little?"

Tom blinked quickly, taken aback by the sudden change of topic.

"Uh ... what do I see there? Are you perhaps considering…?"

"Oh, Black... not in the slightest." He muttered handing her his empty glass back and taking a few steps away from the girl.

"Well if it is Orion you're worried about, you should know he wouldn't care." Walburga put down the glass and leaned back, propping herself of her hands and letting her legs dangle off the desk, spreading them slightly.

"Believe me, Black, if I wanted to take what you're kindly offering, Orion would be the least of my thoughts."

"I like the cheekiness... I gather you won't take what I'm kindly offering though, will you? Are you saving yourself for the teacher or… something? She not good at sharing?"

Tom shrugged and watched raptly as Walburga hopped off the desk and approached with slow steps, her hands behind her back. Such a Slytherin.

She came to stand in front of him, a dimple in her cheek, a defiant expression on her delicate face.

"You like my legs, Riddle, I saw it ... inside that head of yours..." Walburga didn't dare touch him but her eyes kept dropping on his lips and lower, on his chest.

She was close. Close enough for Tom to notice that her eyes were so many more shades of blue than he had ever counted.

He curled his lips into a smirk.

"Didn't need to bother with my thoughts, you could've just asked. I'm not blind. I still think I will decline your offer though, and it is the last time I'm telling you nicely, Black."

Walburga hesitated just a second more then she took one last step, walking into the solid heat standing between them, regardless of his warnings, amused by his obvious surprise at her impudence and cheek.

The tips of their shoes were touching.

Tom's mouth went dry and his resolve begun faltering at her proximity.

She was tall, much taller than Hermione was, he noticed.

Their lips were so close that Tom couldn't have licked his without licking hers.

Her eyes searched his.

"Why? I've seen you flirt around, you have a small army of girls waiting for nothing else but for you to stretch your hand and take them… yet you never do… 'f it makes you feel any better, I'm not fishing for a betrothal. I have one. We can lick each other's wounds…" She whispered, her upper lip brushing his with the motion, "I won't tell if you won't."

Tom gulped and his eyes betrayed him slipping on Walburga's red luscious lips, not for long, but long enough for her to take it as an encouragement.

Walburga leaned in slowly and bit his lower lip. She tugged it twice and sucked it between hers, trying to coerce a response.

Something at the base of Tom's belly tingled and twisted when her tongue poked out to taste him, and he was surprised to find that the low, deep, primitive growl he could hear filling the room, was coming from the back of his very own throat.

Walburga responded with a soft encouraging moan that sent Tom's every nerve ablaze.

All he knew was, one moment he'd been on the verge of moving away from her, and the next Walburga was pressed between himself and the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands tied around his neck and his hands ... they were all over the place.

Pulling, brushing, cupping.

She was warm. Fuck. She was burning and pressing against him in all the right places.

She wouldn't resist him, she wanted him.

_Hermione will never want you like this._

The thought came before he could avoid it. A punch in the stomach would have hurt less.

Tom squeezed his eyes shut and tried to enjoy the hungry lips sucking at his neck, the eager fingers pulling at his hair.

_She will never… never touch you like that… never… how could she?_

Walburga moaned loudly and plunged her tongue in his mouth. Tom pushed against her, grinding against her stomach and shivering at the friction.

His whole body was burning, hurting with need… yet something wasn't… quite right.

 _Do you think she would ever want to touch you like that_? A little voice in the back of his head mocked.

The pitcher of pumpkin juice exploded loudly. Walburga burst into a short euphoric laugh, oblivious to his train of thoughts and probably convinced his arousal had caused the explosion.

Tom broke the next kiss and took a deep breath, blinking fiercely in an attempt to regain lucidity.

Bergamot.

Black smelled of bergamot, sweat and something bitter, something citrusy.

Tom froze, his next breath stuck in his throat.

What was he doing? This… he didn't want this.

There was no smell of jasmine, no honey, no sweetness. There were no golden doe eyes to get lost into, no heart-shaped pink lips parting under his.

There were painted nails digging in his shoulders, black curls clouding his vision… and his better judgment apparently.

_So what? Honey and sweetness may not be for you to enjoy... you might as well…_

Tom's heart thumped painfully hard in his chest and he released his grip on Walburga at once, pulling away as if he had just burned himself.

Shit. What… what was he thinking?! Why?

He looked up, Walburga was panting, leaning against the wall, her lips were swollen and she had an odd shocked expression that he couldn't quite, nor cared to, decipher right now.

Tom stiffly marched his way to the other side of the room. He needed space, room to breathe, he needed to move, he needed… much more space than he had right now. Needed to get out of there.

He snatched his shirt from the chair, slipping it quickly over his shoulders.

"Damn, you can kiss, Riddle…" Walburga laughed, "... you sure you want to stop there?"

"Let's get back to the dorms." There was an odd, unknown feeling building up in Tom's stomach.

He could sense his whole system over-reacting to it, trying to balance the unknown and uncertain new sensation with some more familiar and 'safe' rage instead.

He didn't like this. Didn't like this at all. What feeling was that? He couldn't place it. Couldn't figure it out, hence he started panicking.

He wanted to storm out, march upstairs and burst into Hermione's quarters.

He wanted to blame it all on her. Blame her for… for that something crushing his stomach right now, whatever that was, because it was obviously linked to her somehow… but how?

If only he could've kissed her right now. Erase the bitter taste of Walburga, erase the past minute or so.

He needed her, right now, needed to have her scream at him, yell at him. He wanted for Hermione to be mad, to make a scene.

God, he wanted to fuck her into the mattress, then fight some more… bury himself deep within her scent and then… He felt like crying.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Tom shook his head, buttoning his shirt up to his neck with meticulous movements, perhaps just to keep his hands busy.

"Ok, fine, as you wish, we'll go, calm down, I'm not going to bloody force you."

"I am perfectly calm." He snapped.

"You don't look calm ... what is it? 'wasn't even your first kiss… I don't think your teacher would even mind if…" But Walburga's giggle choked in the back of her throat and she fell to the ground, holding her head in her hands, squinting and moaning in pain.

"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! RIDDLE! GET OUT!"

"But you see, Black… I can't. It seems you have forgotten who's in charge here, so I don't think I'll be able to get out of there until I'll have it carved it into that little head of yours once and for all..."

"Sorry, sorry, sorrysorryI'msorry, please, I begyouplese! Argh ... noooo!"

That's why you shouldn't treat them as your equals, let it be a lesson, Tom sighed to himself, watching phlegmatically as Walburga folded in on herself screaming at the top of her lungs as he vented his frustration and anger on her.

 **"I said I'm fine."** Tom scoffed in annoyance, trying again to grab her hand and failing. She could be quick when she wanted to. He groaned.

"And I said you look pale... maybe we should go to the infirmary, could it be your allergy?" Hermione frowned when he blocked her from placing her hand on his forehead, she snorted when he forced her fingers apart and wedged his between hers.

"Perhaps you're studying too much…? I know exams are nearing, but Tom, I've seen your grades, you have nothing to worry about ..." but he was already dragging her towards the park.

"I'm studying just the right amount."

"Are you eating enough? You should probably eat a bit more… Have you already found the secret passage to the kitchens? I shouldn't say, but it's the ..."

"The painting with the pears, yes I know, I'm eating just fine… will you…" Hermione dug her heels into the ground and forced him to stop.

Tom spun back around with a theatrical eye-roll and pursed his lips under her glare.

"You look like shit. And why are you wearing a scarf? I'm sweating and I'm wearing short sleeves under my robes… and why the hell are you wearing this one? Didn't you hate this scarf?"

"I'm fine! I do hate this scarf. I'm not even sure it deserves to be called that ... it's more like a lumpy blanket … and the color is just hideous. But you made it, didn't you?" He pouted.

Her glare didn't falter.

"It's nothing, I'm just… I… nothing, I felt like wearing a scarf, now shut up and let's go for a walk."

"HA! You were about to say something! Spill the tea!"

"Look, I only have an hour gap and you have two free periods, I checked, can we just spend some time together without… doing this?" he spat.

"Tom!"

"Hermione."

"I know something is not right… you'd never wear that otherwise…" She hissed narrowing her eyes at him and cocking her head.

"Fine, I'll count to three then I'll just go by myself… one… two…"

"Jeesh… you're stubborn. Okay, fine, let's go! Let go of my hand though, what if someone sees?" She snorted, trying to wriggle her hand free from his grip.

"What if?"

"What do you mean 'what if'? I can't bloody hold hands with students, can I?"

"I'm not 'students' though, am I?" He huffed.

"Just let go! I said I'm coming already!"

"Fine… hag! Go, walk by yourself…" He widened his fingers and wriggled his hand.

A grin spread on his lips when he noticed her fingers were still clasped tight around his palm and he raised his gaze to catch hers.

"I don't like it when you do that." She pouted.

"When I do what?"

"That… that thing you do to make me feel bad or… or like I'm the one being stupid when you are… it would be perfectly normal for me to not want to hold hands… whether you like it or not you're one of my students and…" a blush was creeping its way up her neck.

"So just let go then…" he challenged.

Her grip tightened, his grin grew wider.

"Well… now I just can't, can I?"

"Mh… and why is that?"

"Why… it feels like you'll win something if I let go now..." She frowned and bit her lips.

"You're just impossible, you know that, right?"

"Shuddup, brat."

"We going or what?" He pulled her slightly forward, expecting her to put up some more resistance, but she just followed and his heart swelled.

"Is there chocolate in that bag of yours?" Tom jutted his chin at the satchel hanging from her shoulder, and pulled at the scarf in an attempt to let some air through the thick wool layers as soon as she looked away.

This was sheer torture… he was drenched in sweat, though couldn't bring himself to take it off.

"Don't be silly," She snapped, "'course there's chocolate in my bag. What am I? Some kind of amateur?! Is there chocolate... tsk…"

 **Tom felt his eyelids get heavier and heavier** , his mind lulled by the monotonous rhythm of the teacher's voice.

Abraxas, on his right, had already been asleep for a good ten minutes. Nott, on the left, was pinching his own wrists with the nib of his quill in a desperate attempt to keep himself awake.

Binns was going on and on about Witch Burnings in the 14th century and witch hunts with no enthusiasm whatsoever. He didn't even seem to have noticed that half the class was loudly snoring, the other half stifling yawns and wiping away tears .

Tom let his eyes meet those of a Ravenclaw girl from across the room. He smiled at her when she sheepishly waved a hand at him.

He looked away from the blushing beauty and met Rosier's deadpan expression. Tom offered a sly smile this time and she shook her head in mocking disbelief.

"Tease." she mouthed, Tom winked.

Tom was considering using that boring lesson to practice some Occlumency when the door to the classroom swung open, almost flying off its hinges.

"I'M NOT SNORING, YOU ARE!" Abraxas shouted, waking with a start, leaping to his feet and knocking down his inkwell and half of Mulciber's books in one fell swoop.

"Merlin's beard!" Binns snapped, clutching his chest with a shaky hand, clearly undecided as to whether he had been more frightened by the sudden intrusion of a very agitated Avery, or by the blond boy's sudden awakening.

Half of the class burst out in laughter.

Tom would've laughed too, hadn't he immediately caught Avery's worried gaze search for his own.

Nott must have noticed too, because by the time Binns managed to ask 'What in Merlin's sake had possessed Avery, for him to almost break the door down', the boy had finished slipping books and quills into both his and Tom's bags and was gesturing for Mulciber and Malfoy to do the same.

"ProfessorcanIborrowRiddleit'sanemergency?" Avery spoke so quickly that when he got to the end of the sentence he looked positively ready to pass out.

"Shut up everyone! I can't hear anything!" Binns muttered, indignant and confused by the howling laughter echoing around him, "What is it you need? A griddle?!"

"Riddle! Professor, can I borrow Mr. Riddle?"

"Why… why would you pull students out of my class, Mr. Avery?"

Avery didn't even try to hide his annoyance at the professor confusion. He let out a growl-like sound, similar to that of an impatient wild beast, then turned directly to Tom, ignoring Binns' glare.

"Riddle, that ... Gryffindor prank ..." the tall boy stammered, "Riddle, the prank turned quite ugly and things… they escalated very quickly ... we tried not to meddle but... She needs you, Riddle. Now."

"What do you mean 'it turned ugly'?!" Tom heard his voice as if coming from very far away, an alien sound, unrecognizable, way more high-pitched than he had intended for it to be.

"Riddle, you have to come downstairs, Professor Granger, she's in the infirmary and she won't calm down... I'll explain as we go."

"Infirmary? Professor Granger? You could've said that to begin with, boy!" Binns muttered, from somewhere in the background.

"When did a Boggart ever send someone straight to the Infirmary, Avery? What the hell are you raving about?" Barked Abraxas leapfrogging past his desk and then turning in shock at Tom's shocked stillness.

Tom saw the boy's lips moving but the sound wasn't coming through.

He felt dislocated from reality. Light years away from the classroom, away from the worried glances the students were exchanging around him. Far from whatever it was Malfoy was yelling now.

He couldn't feel his fingertips and his mouth was as dry as parchment.

Hermione was where? The infirm-what? Who ... how… who doesn't know how to deal with a fucking Boggart? Had he underestimated… what could've… Infirmary? What?!

Then suddenly the sounds around him burst through the barrier of his shock again and Abraxas's words hit him like punches in the guts.

"… the fuck, Riddle, you said she could handle herself! Oi! Wake up! Riddle! We have to go!"

"Mr. Malfoy, I won't tolerate such foul language in my class! I'm going to have to take point from…"

"RIDDLE! Pull yourself together! We need to go! Now!"

 **Hermione knew the one before her to be Harry Potter**. She knew, although that looked nothing like the man.

In fact, it barely even looked like A man.

The creature standing before her looked much more like some kind of grotesque life-size puppet.

His body moved in little jerks and twitches, shadows of what had once been Harry's habits, the little hallmarks, signature moves, Hermione knew by heart, tiny details she had refused to forget.

Like the way he would constantly adjust the glasses on his nose or the way he would compulsively try to comb his hair with his fingers.

The movements were now a little rusty, maybe slightly exaggerated, a little out of sync, but they were still there.

His face was more of a sketch than a real face though. A recollection of his most characteristic features, flashing in sight every now and then.

Green eyes, a scar, glasses, they existed only momentarily in that blur of color that was his face.

"Why are you crying, Mione?"

Mione... right, that's what he used to call her, wasn't it? Though his voice… she wasn't quite sure that was how his voice sounded.

"I was scared, Harry. I was so scared. He was here again, he was right here!" she heard herself say, her voice a faraway echo in her mind, as a vivid image of Voldemort flashed before her eyes sending shivers down her spine.

"No. You're not scared. Not scared of him." Harry said matter-of-factly.

Hermione tried focusing on her former best friend's face, but the blur made it hard to figure out what kind of expression he was wearing.

Was he sad? Disappointed? Angry?

"Why… of course I was scared of him! I was terrified! He was just as pale… he was… his eyes … and then he… what happened then? I was… he was right here, Harry, and then?"

But Harry was shaking his head no, "You're not scared of him, Mione. You're not. You let him sleep in your bed, you hold his hand, you brush his hair and make his breakfast…"

"No, not Tom, Harry! I meant Voldemort! He was here! I thought… I thought we were talking about Voldemort!"

"We were."

It was Hermione's turn to shake her head no.

"No I… Tom… You don't understand. You can't! How could you understand? You don't know him, don't know us! You don't know what we've been through! None of you could even… you're just…"

"What about what we've been through? What about us, Hermione? Have you forgotten?"

"You don't get it. You're just memories, Harry, I can't… I can't protect memories of a time that is still to come! Tom is the now. Tom was the past ten years of my life. Tom needs me, Harry, he needs protection, from the same monster that you needed to…"

"HE IS THE MONSTER, 'MIONE."

"SHUT UP! Shut up, I can't think!"

And Harry did, he fell silent, at least for a while. Hermione looked around frowning in confusion. Why was she here? Where was here?

Voldemort, she had seen him... but it had happened somewhere else entirely, she was sure of that. What had happened next? Was she dead? She couldn't be dead. Who would take care of Tom?

No.

She didn't remember green lights, didn't remember a fight.

In fact, she wasn't even sure Voldemort had had a wand.

"Why are you crying, Hermione?"

"I… don't… I don't know, ok?! I… Voldemort he was here and I was scared and then…"

"Was it something he said, 'Mione? Why are you crying?"

Hermione took a step back. Her heart was racing now and she wasn't sure she liked Harry's attitude. His words were teasing something within the depths of her mind, something she had a feeling would be best not to face right now.

"What did he say? He did say something, he did…" Hermione stared blankly into the nothingness. She couldn't remember clearly. Every time her mind edged too close to what she was trying to recollect, her head would spin dangerously fast, making it impossible to focus.

He had smiled at her.

_He's mine. I won. He'll never be rid of me. You won't see him again._

Hermione gripped her chest with both her hands and she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Why are you cr…"

"I can't… I don't have time to do this. I need to go, Harry, I need to go."

"You're choosing him over us... you've forgotten all about us. We used to hold hands in our sleep, remember? You loved us. Are we not friends anymore? Are our lives not worth fighting for anymore?"

"No! I'd... I'd never... I... Of course I…" Hermione stammered and sobbed loudly, "Harry I can't be here, now, this is not the time. Why am I here, Harry? I need... I need to find him! Voldemort... he found us, Harry! I have to protect him! I have to go!" Hermione spun around, trying to understand, but her mind was just blur and chaos and she was growing more scared, more anxious.

"Why are you crying?" Hermione glanced back, but Harry's face was even more blurred now than it had been before.

She could barely make out the green of his eyes in that odd mashup of colors and shapes that he was turning into.

She'd been looking for Tom... where was Tom? She needed to make sure he was fine! She needed to protect him! She couldn't waste time talking to faded memories!

"That's all we are now to you, is it? Faded memories... you've forgotten of how many people he killed... you can't see his true nature anymore. He's gotten under your skin, he's using you, he'll consume you, he'll take everything from you and then…"

But Hermione ignored those bitter words, she spun around again. She needed to find a way out, but her surroundings were unclear and she couldn't figure out how she'd gotten there in the first place.

"Why are you crying?"

"Stop asking that! I'm… I'm not… Why? Why am I crying? I'm worried… Perhaps I'm worried he might hurt Tom! Tom?" She called tentatively, but her voice was lost in the dark void surrounding them.

"Tom... is that how you call him? No, Hermione, it's Lord Voldemort, isn't it? You might as well call him that now. Will you take his mark when he'll ask you to?" Harry mocked, though his voice was a mix of many voices now.

Ron, Tonks, Ginny, Fred, George, Harry, Sirius…

"Harry he is different! He is… Oh Harry he is so sweet and so kind. Harry, he's so smart and talented and… he… you don't even know and… Voldemort, he's not…" Hermione turned to glance over her shoulders, as if expecting Voldemort to be standing there, laughing at the scene. He wasn't.

"Voldemort was here, he was... Harry, he did say something! He threatened to hurt him! I have to find Tom!"

"No, Hermione... open your eyes... that's not what happened. You used to be so smart, so smart… and now? Now you're lying to yourself. You're lying to yourself and soon he'll kill, you know he will... what will you do then? Will you still pretend everything is fine? Will you let him murder my mom, Mione? Will you let him step over my father's corpse? Is that somehow ok with you now?"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! You don't know him, you don't... understand! He's not him! He's not him! Shut up! TOM! TOM, WHERE ARE YOU!?"

"Hermione, why were you crying?"

"He threatened to… I can't let him hurt Tom! Can't… give up on him, Harry, I can't."

"WHY ARE YOU CRYING?"

Harry's words bounced in her mind like pebbles bouncing off the water of a dark lake. Why was she crying?

She hadn't been afraid of Voldemort.

Voldemort had laughed. He had threatened to take Tom. But she hadn't cried then. When had she started crying? What had happened next? Where was Voldemort?

"'Mione, call his name."

"What?"

"I'll let you go back if you do, I'll let you find him. Just admit it to yourself... call his name, Mione."

"I don't understand?! Why are you being so... odd!? Tom? Where is Tom, Harry, you know where he is, you... we have to find him! Please, for me, Harry. Tom?"

"Call him, Hermione. Call his name, I'll let you go, but you have to say it out loud, you have to. Which one is it? Which one is the right name? Is it Tom? Is it Lord Voldemort? Or..."

"I... Harry, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I'm doing my best, I'll save him! I swear I'll save him... save YOU! I'll save all of you! But I have to go, Harry, let me go!"

"Just say it, Mione. You know what his name is to you, in your heart you know. You know where you stand."

"I... Tom?" Hermione's chest felt heavy, she tightened her grip on it.

Her heart thumped slow and heavy against her hand. She looked down, her fingers were so pale in that darkness. When she raised her gaze again Harry was not where she had left him.

Creepy puppet-Harry was standing right behind her now. So close she felt lips brush her earlobe as it spoke.

"Why were you crying? What happened Hermione? It's not what he said. What happened next? Call his name."

Hermione pulled away from Harry's voice with an horrified cry but when she spun around she was alone, alone in the dark.

Nothing made sense, nothing made sense, why was she crying? Maybe she was going crazy. Her heart leapt in her throat and she felt herself sobbing harder.

His name, call his name. Not Lord Voldemort, no.

"My love? Where are you, my love?"

Hermione woke up to the sound of crying.

It took her a while to figure out the one crying was her. She sighed and sobbed and hiccupped softly, until her brain regained enough consciousness to shake her strange dream into oblivion.

Mint, chocolate and something familiar, something homey, sweet, warm and heartening, enveloped her every sense then.

Instinctively she pressed her face deeper into the solid chest she was resting against, her hands immediately tightening into the fabric of a shirt, pulling it closer, as close as she could.

Home. Safe. We are safe. Love of mine, we're safe. He won't have you. Not now. Not ever.

The words buzzed in her mind over and over, she found the mantra to be just as calming as his scent.

It was suddenly essential, she decided, that she'd be able to see him too.

So, struggling more than she thought she'd need to, Hermione began working on prying her eyes open.

"Malfoy?" The voice came in a whisper, but it reverberated in the rib cage she was currently pressed against, and it spread inside her, bringing another wave of relief to relax her aching muscles, "Malfoy, I think she's waking up! Go get the nurse!"

There came the sound of a chair scraping against the floor and then footsteps, a door, and then silence again.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I should've been there... I'm so sorry, Hermione... I didn't think you'd... I'm so sorry, my love, shhh... it's fine. I'm here now."

"'om?"

"Yes, my love, yes, It's me. It's… It's Tom."

His voice.

Hermione wanted to bathe in that voice.

She wanted to press herself harder against it.

She wanted to rub that voice into the pain in her chest as if it had been a calming balm, a healing ointment she had longed for way too long already.

He was fine. He was here. He was safe.

Finally her eyelids came unstuck. The room was dimly lit, but it still took Hermione several quick blinks to be able to bring his snow-gray eyes, into focus.

So shamefully stunning.

"Hey..." his smile was timid, more sad and tense than he had probably intended for it to be.

"Hey..." Her voice was hoarse and it scratched her throat painfully, "you ok?"

She made an effort to ask it out loud anyway, because it was crucial that he confirmed it for her right now.

Tom's eyes searched for something in hers, then he nodded.

"I'm fine, I... Hermione... oh, God, you scared the shit out of me... I was so worried and... what would I do if you ...? I... please... never again, my love, never again!"

It was like watching a mask break all at once.

Suddenly Tom's snowy eyes melted into tears, and his large hands trembled like a child's, cupping her face ever so delicately, as if she were the most precious thing on the face of the Earth.

Hermione imitated the movement without even thinking about it. She took his face in her hands and wiped a fat tear away with her thumb.

"What? What happened, love of mine? Why are you crying?" A strange bell rang within her brain as she whispered those words with as much voice as she could gather at the moment, which was not much, but he heard her anyway.

"You don't remember?" His eyes widened allowing more tears to spill and land onto Hermione's hand and straight into the pillow.

Hermione stopped to think about it, then shook her head in the negative.

Her memories were all muddled, plus the Calming Draught they must have dosed her with was doing a great job of preventing her from putting the puzzle pieces back together. All she knew was she had been terrified and worried to death and then knocked out of consciousness, something about a dream, something sad.

"You were mid-class, fifth year, a Slytherin-Gryffindor double. You remember that?" he asked, moving a little closer and placing his forehead against hers.

"Yes, I think I do ... we were working on Vanishing Spells... I remember that." Hermione frowned, "But then… someone… something… screaming." Hermione frowned.

"Gryffindors, my love, they… it was supposed to be a prank. Some bullshit payback for being a thousand times better than fucking Dumbledore is..."

"Tom..." She tried to sound authoritative but her voice wavered and vanished scraping against her aching vocal cords. She must've been screaming quite a lot. The mere thought made her blush a little.

"Anyway, they released a Boggart mid-class. You don't remember that part?"

New tears spilled from his eyes and Hermione tightened her grip on his face.

Fuck. A Boggart. Voldemort. It couldn't have turned into anything else.

"... what happened next?"

Tom sniffled and paused to release a shaky breath.

It was only then that Hermione realized just how hot he felt against her.

The fever, the crying, the shaking.

Hermione would have joined the dots first had she not been so dazed by the Calming Draught.

He was in the midst of a nervous breakdown, feverish, sweaty, at the mercy of his own raging and confused emotions.

Hermione felt herself dying of guilt. He must have been terrified. They were in the infirmary. It must have been the middle of the night, at least judging by the candlelight, the silence and the fact that the nurse wasn't already there. How many hours had he spent lying next to her? How long had she let him simmer in his worry? Alone. She had left him alone.

Hermione began rocking him steadily, in an attempt to calm him down. She held him closer, dearly, softly, as if to prevent him from crumbling into pieces right there and then.

"It turned ... it turned into ... Orion said it was some kind of man but ... pale and scary and bold... he had no nose but two slits in its place and… he spoke."

Hermione felt her mouth go dry but she forced herself to speak while caressing Tom's wet cheeks.

"Shhh, it's ok. I'm fine. I'm here. What did he say? What did the monster say, love of mine?" She whispered.

Tom's eyes darted into hers, he released a small sigh and bit his bottom lip.

"He said he got me. He said he got me and you would never see me again. And then, then he slumped to the ground as if he were ... dead."

Hermione continued to stare at Tom, his eyes traveling from her eyes to her lips, searching for something.

Hermione felt her own blood chill in her veins and she had to make a huge effort not to let too much of her horror leak out, as fragments of a confused dream suddenly came to her mind, blending in with memories from a past life.

_It's not what he said. Said Harry. Why are you crying?_

_The Elder Wand flew high as the one who had held it up to a moment ago fell backwards and crashed on the cold stone floor._

_Evil himself died before them, with the same banality of a pigeon crashing into the glass of a skyscraper. It was almost disappointing._

_He had died._

She remembered it now, vividly. The Boggart. She remembered raising her eyes from her desk and finding herself staring at it.

The creature had predictably turned into Lord Voldemort, she hadn't even flinched then. It had threatened her and still, she had been about to just mutter the counter-spell and take a few points from Gryffindor. But then… He had died. Voldemort. No. Tom Riddle. He had died just like he had died on May 2nd 1998. Only then had Hermione started screaming. She had lost it.

_What about us? You know where you stand. You know it, in your heart._

"Walburga said… she said everyone thought you had killed the Boggart with a non-verbal but... but then you started screaming. You wouldn't stop screaming you were like hysterical... and nobody was helping you and it's ... it's all my fault ... and I didn't know that ... I didn't think that ... I'm sorry!"

Hermione blinked several times and she leaned away slightly, to have a better view of his face. His nose was red and his eyes red-rimmed too. His fault? What did he… there was no way he'd know about…?

"What ... what are you talking about, Tom? How can this be your fault? I ... should be ashamed! Having a nervous breakdown over a Boggart?! That was silly of me…"

"But… I knew it... I knew it would have happened, I knew about the prank!" Hermione had to resist the urge to take a relieved breath at those words, of course he couldn't have known about Voldemort, "I told everyone not to intervene! I ... You kept screaming my name and I wasn't there and I told everyone not to help! What if something happened to you?! It would've been all my fault and…" He shook so hard the whole bed shook with him.

"Shhh don't say that!" Hermione pulled him closer to her and he let her. She would have had to worry about how her entire system of values and morals had shifted, later on.

Right now, this boy desperately needed her.

His head bent and he hid in the crook of her neck. His voice tickled her neck when he spoke again.

"There is this feeling… I don't… I can't handle it. What is it? It is crushing me, what is it?"

"What feeling?" she asked in little more than a whisper. His hair tickling her face.

"It is crushing me, inside. Here." His hand took Hermione's wrist and guided her hand just above his stomach, "And here." the hand guided hers over his heart, "It's like ... it's like a vise, it tightens around and I ... I can't breathe."

"Concern?" Hermione suggested, "I'm fine, Tom. It was a silly accident, I swear. It will take something more than a Boggart to take me down for good..."

He was silent for a while longer before speaking again.

"No. I… It started earlier."

"Earlier, today?" She asked pressing softly against his pounding heart.

His head shook no.

Hermione removed her hand from his chest to stroke his curls away from her eyes.

She sighed and rested her chin on his head, breathing in his scent deeply.

"It started a while ago ... today... it just grew stronger." Tom's lips brushed against her jugular as he spoke, sending goosebumps all over her neck and shoulders. Hermione didn't move away, too entranced by his smell, by the beating of his heart against her own, by his large hand drawing eight figures on her back now.

"Mh… sounds like you may be feeling guilty?"

Hermione heard him swallow loudly, then, reluctantly, he nodded.

"Maybe. Maybe I feel guilty, yes." Guilt mh?

"I told you, it's not your fault. How could you have known I'd be so scared of a stupid Boggart?"

There was another short pause.

"Something else happened..." He muttered, "I don't want to talk about it. It makes me more uncomfortable when I think about it. Squeezes my guts…"

Hermione smiled to herself.

He couldn't recognize them all, but he had all this different feelings now, and he seemed to be trying to work his way through them, to learn, evolve.

 _You will not have him_ , she found herself thinking, _no one will have him as long as I am here to protect him._

Tom was not the monster, no matter what her memories thought. The monster wasn't there. It wasn't going to be either.

If anything, the world was the real monster, the circumstances were monsters, and she would face them for Tom. She would have made a difference. Anything. She would have done anything.

Mine. Hissed a voice in the far back of her mind. He is mine.

_Why are you crying?_

Truth was, Hermione wouldn't have limited herself to crying if Voldemort were to die now, not if Voldemort had anything to do with Tom Riddle still, even just partially.

This was no longer a timeline in which Hermione could have watched Voldemort's body collapse backwards and just cease being. Not without losing her mind over it. Not without wanting to tear her own heart out of her chest.

"I'm sure you're worrying over nothing, love of mine." Love of mine, because that was just the right name to call him, "You couldn't have done anything that bad."

Hermione resumed rocking him gently, his temperature had already gone down a tad.

She froze as his lips pressed against her throat more firmly than before.

He placed three sloppy kisses on her neck, trailing up, three more moving up to her jaw, one on her cheek and one corner of her mouth. She moved then, tilting her head back.

Tom paused, his eyes locked into hers.

"I love you, so much ... so much." he whispered against her lips, "I ... I don't want anyone else ... I don't want to touch anyone else. Don't want to be… touched. No one but you."

Hermione felt her cheeks catch fire but she forced herself to hold his gaze.

"Has anyone done something to you, Tom? Has someone ... touched you against your will? You can tell me, you know that right? I ..." But he pressed his lips against hers, a chaste, soft, delicate kiss, more aimed at silencing her than to anything else. Soft. Warm. Chocolaty.

"Tom? Did someone do something to you?" she asked forcing her focus on the main topic of concern there.

Tom bit his lower lip and seemed to be struggling with something.

"The truth, Tom. Now." She ordered.

"I ... it was my fault... It wasn't… I kinda did it and then I ... I wish I hadn't done it... here it is, again, see?! It is stabbing me here." Hermione looked down at his hand, clutched against his chest.

"So ... you made out with someone ... and you feel guilty? Was that why you were acting all weird last week? All those walks and the scarf…" Hermione couldn't help but chuckle, "You really are a drama queen, Tom Riddle... "

But when their eyes locked again, there was no trace of amusement in his gaze and her smile faltered.

"I want to kiss you. I want you to want to kiss me… I… anyone else won't do. I knew already. I just knew. God, I want you so much sometimes… you don't know how frustrating it is to think that you will never…"

Hermione leaned forward and placed a kiss on his lips.

The kiss was as light as the one he had placed on hers just a moment earlier.

It was quick and chaste, and slightly odd because he had been talking when she had leaned in. It had been a kiss nonetheless, there was no going back from that.

When Hermione pulled away Tom was looking at her with huge eyes, his lips still slightly parted.

"Here, all clean. You have been sanitized. Enough of the guilt."

He blinked. Was he even breathing? She had broken him, hadn't she?

"So… where is the nurse? I might just discharge myself if she's going to take much longer…" She was horrible at feigning nonchalance, wasn't she?

Hermione pinned herself up on one elbows to look around the dim-lit infirmary, while her cheeks and neck caught fire under Tom's shocked gaze.

"Hermione…"

"What time is it anyway? How long have I slept?"

"I ... did you just…? Was that a k…"

"Don't be silly, it was just a kiss ... it's not like ... I hit you or something." She grinned, quoting his own words against him.

"Aren't you… I don't know… mad at me or something?" He sounded almost disappointed.

"Why… well you've spent quite some time punishing yourself anyway and… and then today ... it must not have been easy for you and I… I told you I wasn't jealous, didn't I?"

A mischievous light shone in Tom's eyes and he bit his lower lip again.

"Now, where is my wand?"

He kept staring at her intently.

It was really shameful that he could be just so handsome all the time. Even when he had been crying until moments ago he still looked just as perfect as ever… not fair…

"Stop staring at me ... with that face ..." Hermione muttered sitting up and straightening her back.

"What a face?" he pressed his lips together to keep from smiling and propped himself up on his elbow, bringing his face closer to hers once more.

"That face..." Hermione diverted her gaze.

"Oh, you mean the face of someone wondering how a witch of your level got fooled by a Boggart?"

"Don't you dare! Tom Riddle! I was obviously caught off…"

"Too scared the monster would steal me away, mh?" a smirk slowly took shape on that sinfully beautiful mouth of his, a mouth she had just definitely claimed for herself.

What the hell had gotten into her, by the way?!

I love you so much. So much. The words kept ringing in her ears. Only you. I want you to want to kiss me. The prat. He was getting under her skin, there was no denying that.

Hermione covered her face with both hands, groaning.

"I was afraid he'd return you, actually!" she grumbled.

"You're a shitty liar ... and a duffer ... seriously, a Boggart!? I risked losing you to a Boggart!? You really are Riddikulus..." he laughed, "No, no, don't try to hide that duffer face of yours now!" his hands got ahold of her wrists and he fought to force them apart.

"Tom! Let go of me, we'll fall! I swear, if I fall and break my neck….!"

"As if a bald, noseless monster could ever hurt me!" He scoffed.

"I'll kick you if you don't let go! I'll kick you and I'll show you how even a girl can hurt you just right if..."

"What did you say?" Tom yelled, using his core to tilt himself up and against her. Hermione fell backwards with a small squeal.

They sunk deeper into the mattress and Tom finally managed to force her hands away from her face, helping himself with his own face, while holding her wrist with his hands.

A fit of giggles bubbled up from the bottom of Hermione's belly at the sight of his messy hair. Tom leaned in closer, yelling in her face, "What was it?! You need DADA private lessons? Oh, well, I don't know that I will have the time for that, I'm a very busy man after all..."

"Yeah," Hermione spat through laughter, "My bad! I should've know Mr. Kissing Booth would be too busy making out with the remaining half of the castle now!"

"How dare you!? It was just one girl! That's it! I'm not telling you anything anymore! And I refuse to feel guilty ever again! In fact, I could easily live without this feeling… you can have it!"

Hermione laughed at that.

"I may have been fooled by a Boggart but you spent a week torturing yourself for such nonsense! Who's the duffer now? I can't believe you even forced yourself to wear that hideous scarf!"

"I can't hear you over the sound of your crying for me! Toom! Where is my Tom?!"

"Hottest week ever and you were walking around in a wool scarf? I knew something was wrong! Who was the girl?"

"I'm not telling you! Exams are approaching, I don't want to be the cause of anyone's low grades!"

"I would never! How dare you even think… OH!"

Hermione felt her head and shoulders slide over the edge of the bed.

She shrieked and her legs wrapped around Tom's waist.

Shock and surprise crossed his face and his eyes widened as she almost succeeded in pulling him down with her. Then, luckily, his instinct kicked in, Tom pinned his knees into the mattress and moved his weight backwards, regaining balance and successfully stopping them from plummeting down onto the stone floor.

"Tom! NO, no! Seriously now, seriously! TOM! WE WILL FALL! PULL ME UP!"

"SO BE IT! Might knock some sense into that duffer head 'f yours!"

"Nononono! Tom, that tickles! NOO!"

"The spell, Hermione, what's the spell? Rid...?"

"This is Riddikulus!" she huffed amidst hysterical laughter.

"Good gir…"

A sudden light blinded them. Hermione gasped. Tom stiffened above her.

"Mr. Riddle… Mrs. Granger ... I ... well I guess I'm glad you're feeling better." Mrs. Byrne stood under the door, slight disbelief painted on her round face, as she watched Hermione's half-length dangle off the bed and the other half clinging to a disheveled Tom Riddle.

Behind the woman, an amused Abraxas Malfoy was clearly struggling to decide where it would be safe to lay his eyes.


	9. House of Gaunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Hope you're all safe and healthy in this odd times of ours. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your reviews and support!
> 
> Here's chapter 9 of the story, please do let me know if there are major typos or mistakes, I'll try to double and triple check in the next few days and fix the most obvious ones! Hopefully, I haven't left too many behind!
> 
> Hermione's struggle is getting real!
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Love,
> 
> M.

**Chapter 9: House of Gaunt**

**Hermione had never been much of a sex expert.**

Of course she wasn't oblivious to what sex was and she had a fair idea of its mechanics, at least academically speaking.

She'd just never had a true chance of exploring the subject first-hand.

She had gone through all the healthy stages of her sexual development growing up, but her actual experience had stopped with the discovery of that tingling feeling of tension in the bottom of her belly.

The very first time she'd experienced it, it had been one unsuspecting summer afternoon, while watching an old movie starring Paul Newman (Mrs. Granger celebrity crush since forever), in the living room of her family home, sucking on a blue raspberry Push Pop while taking a break from her homework.

She remembered how odd she had felt when the sensation had crept from the bottom of her belly and sent her heartbeat throbbing in her ears.

Mrs. Granger had been behind her at the time, ironing hers and her husband's pristine lab coats, her adoring eyes, glued on the actor despite the cloud of steam that surrounded her.

Hermione had briefly considered asking her mother what that feeling, sending blood rushing in unthinkable areas of her body, might have been. She had been about to ask, really, but then, for the first time in her life, she had chosen not to ask a question about something she hadn't known.

As if she had innately known that 'something unknown' to be just a little too naughty, intimate and secret to disclose.

Instead, she had enjoyed the high of the unusual 'tummy ache' Paul Newman had evoked by simply existing and having the most amazing eyes one could dream of.

Since then the sensation had returned several times. Sometimes Hermione could evoke the feeling willingly, looking for pictures of her childhood idols, lying on her stomach on the hard floor or reading about steamy kisses in her books.

Other times the sensation could dawn on her in the most unthinkable moments.

Once even during a particularly furious quarrel with a very blond, sleek and venomous Draco Malfoy.

Hermione would have never admitted it to another soul, but in that instance, when the blond Slytherin had walked into her personal space in an attempt to intimidate her, whispering obscene and disgusting slurs right to her face, Hermione had had to make a tremendous effort to resist the temptation to lean forward and just taste the prat. Something that would've have likely had catastrophic repercussions...

She had returned to her dorm on wobbly knees and had mentally scolded herself for days in a very house-elf-like fashion.

Ron had been the first instance in which her arousal had gone from a tingling feeling to a constant gut-wrenching bite, an overwhelming and uncomfortable twisting of her every organ.

Hermione clearly remembered how the slightest contact with Ron had sometimes been enough to make her double over and grunt with the discomfort of not knowing how to let off all of that steam and warm energy within.

It had been Lavender, with her impudent brazenness, the first to tackle Hermione's innocence walls, rudely introducing her to topics like masturbation, fingering and petting.

At the time, Hermione had blushed furiously hearing about such intimate matters, still too much of a prude to admit that the topic had a mysterious appeal even to a know-it-all nerd such as herself.

She had refused to take part in the evenings where Gryffindor girls would sit in a circle, exchanging gossip, giving each other advice and sharing their experiences for the sake of common knowledge.

Hermione didn't fancy listening to the very crude descriptions of male genitalia the older girls would provide, plus she had feared the other girls might have snitched on her, which in hindsight, considering the brief time Ron had dated Lavender, had been an excellent idea.

By the time Hermione had come to be vaguely more comfortable on the subject of sex and perhaps, even mildly interested in learning a bit more about that self-stimulation thing, it had been too late.

War had torn her mind from her adolescent drives altogether and sex had been the least of her thoughts while living on the run with Harry and Ron.

Once she had been thrown into the past, there had been much more to worry about than her sexuality. Life in the Orphanage had been hard, demanding and above all ... crowded.

The first time Hermione had felt the ghost of her libido crawl again into the bottom of her belly, had been with Herbert. More precisely, with Herbert's back side.

It had been exciting to feel that tickle again, however tepid if compared to the overpowering sensation she remembered feeling in the past.

It had been more of a yawning lukewarm version of it, a lazy awakening of her senses.

However, after that summer, after her spar with Tom, Hermione had put so much effort into researching, working and fixing her relationship with the boy that she hadn't thought of the matter anymore.

Unraveling the mystery of what would come after that pressure in her belly had lost its appeal as the feeling itself had faded away once more.

The only trace of Hermione's sexual drive had just occasionally made its appearance ever since, moslty in the form of her vague jealousy for the far more hormonally-driven students around her... at least until the night in the infirmary.

" _I want you to want to kiss me"_

" _I love you so much… so much."_

Those words had been echoing in her ears for weeks, making her deaf to the Gryffindors taunting her about the Boggart whenever Dumbledore was not around, or the whispers that inevitably stopped whenever the Assistant made her entrance in a room.

Those words.

Those fucking words had robbed her of her sleep, distracted her from her assistant duties during exams but most of all, they had made her a quivering mess whenever her eyes had crossed the mercury pools in Tom's across the Great Hall.

She had tried to suppress that illogical feeling by focusing more on her own research, studying and memorizing entire books of old runes, investing every spare moment in helping other professors prepare for exams, taking long walks around the lake, going for jogs in the park and avoiding Tom as if her life depended on it (which had turned out to be quite easy since he had been very taken by his end-year exams anyway).

No matter how hard or what she tried though, she always felt as if she were using a glass of water to put out a raging fire.

The most frustrating aspect of the whole thing was that Hermione couldn't quite pinpoint the reason why, things had changed so drastically.

It had been a bit like falling: one moment you're standing and the next, the floor is coming at your face… or vice versa.

How is it that you missed that stupid step? Or tripped on your own laces? Those are question you will only ask yourself later.

Right then, while you're falling… well… you're just falling. Inevitably, sadly, miserably, following gravity, with no chance of resisting its pull.

All you can do is wait for the blow. If you're quick enough, you may stretch your hands forward to try and lessen the violence of impact.

But that's it.

All that's left to do is brace yourself and go down, assess the damages later on.

Hermione must have definitely tripped over something, because overnight she had gone from looking at Tom through a veil of protective motherly love to seeing him through an embarrassing and conflicting veil of blind... well... desire.

When had he turned into something sexual? Why now? She had heard him frigging touching himself months prior and it hadn't had the same devastating effect! What had gotten into her?

Her questions remained unanswered.

All she knew, was that few days after the Boggart incident (which by the way had cost Gryffindor any chance of winning the House Cup and robbed her of any chance to be liked by the lot of them ever), she had looked across the Great Hall to give the usual discreet good morning nod to Tom and his friends, and when she had found his usual spot… her Tom… the five-year-old Tom she had taught to read and cross the road to, hadn't been there.

In his place, sitting placidly before a cup of tea, she had found a completely different creature.

A tall specimen, with broader shoulders than Tom, with a sharper jaw, with deeper eyes.

A bundle of growing height and slowly expanding muscles, wrapped in crisp pressed clothes… clothes she knew would have smelled like the darkest chocolate had she leaned in for a quick sniff.

The human in Tom's seat, the one who couldn't possibly be Tom for he could kill with a smile and stab with his gaze, had smirked up at her with a knowing expression that had sent her every nerve ablaze.

It couldn't have been Tom but it had been him, indubitably.

And so the fall had begun.

Tom had turned into some sort of black hole, drawing in any ounce of Hermione's focus whenever he'd strut in a classroom or down a corridor.

He'd suck up all of the oxygen in the room just by… existing. He just needed to glance at her and Hermione would feel like suffocating, like trapped in her own skin and hot… God, scorching.

" _God, I want you so much sometimes."_

" _I don't want to touch anyone else. Don't want to be… touched. No one but you."_

His husky voice would start echoing in her mind, screaming over her doubts, constantly humming and silencing her logic.

The biting feeling she remembered Ron making her feel, had turned into a raging fire, burning hot paths down her belly and further down, between her legs.

Unexpectedly it had become impossible to keep her eyes from noticing small movements like the unbuttoning of a cuff, the loosening of his tie, the stretching of the sore muscles of his neck.

Of course, it hadn't taken long for him to notice.

Oh, Tom had noticed all right. Hermione was more than sure.

The way he had started addressing her, the way his entire posture and demeanor would change whenever she was around, the careful way he'd choose the right moments to brush her hand or hip, the fact that he had no longer tried to force his presence on her but would always let her find him instead... even the simple fact that he never again mentioned the peck on the lips she had given him... all clues pointed to Tom knowing full well what was going on in Hermione's head.

All clues screamed how overly pleased with her confusione he was.

He didn't seem any eager in rushing her fall either, as if knowing that eventually, she would have hit the ground right where he wanted her to, just as hard as he had anticipated.

Which was why Hermione was now waist-deep in the massive bathtub of the Teacher's bathroom, determined to unravel the mechanics Lavender had once tried to give her access to.

Yes.

Hermione's solution to that madness had been unraveling the secrets of masturbation.

As the practical woman she prided herself on being, Hermione wouldn't let her hormones rule her. So if her body required a release, a reasonable request, considering both her physical and theoretical age, Hermione would have granted it. On her own terms.

She would soon be leaving for France and refused to fall victim to her own hormones within walking distance of the finish line. Especially when her feelings were so still so confused and conflicted.

So yes, in the meantime, while waiting to put some distance between herself and Tom (a distance she was convinced would've helped get her thoughts straight), masturbation would be her go to. That was going to be her way of stretching her hands forward, lessen the impact.

It should've been enough of a distraction and a way to let out some of the odd gut-wrenching steam... in theory.

Hermione buried her face between her hands and sighed.

She had been in the water for ten minutes already, completely alone, and she still hadn't even found the courage to start.

It felt a little silly, not so much for the act itself, which she considered quite natural, but because she didn't know exactly where to start. If only she could have been a little less rational and more instinctive.

"Oh, come on! I rode a Dragon, travelled back in time, I fought a war… I can manage a wank, can't I?" She muttered shaking her hands at her sides before dipping them into the warm water.

She made a first attempt to caress her own bony hips, trying to be provocative with herself. She slipped her hands over the flat area below her navel and giggled at the ticklish feeling.

It took very little for her to feel like a complete moron and stop altogether.

This wouldn't work.

Hermione took a deep breath and tried a different approach to the matter. A blunt one.

Spreading her legs on the stone seat in the tub, Hermione began studying the shapes between her legs with her fingers.

When she found what her biology books had taught her to be her entrance, Hermione tentatively pushed the tip of her index finger past it and then immediately pulled it back, hissing in annoyance at the odd invasion.

After a couple of moments of frowning, she made a second attempt, slipped the finger into the opening again and tried to focus on the feeling.

The inside of her was tight, a little slippery and ... oddly textured. Hermione made a face.

Not what she had expected, but she tried to resist the temptation to retreat after all the effort of inserting the single digit in there.

Nothing.

She wriggled her finger, tried slipping it in and out a bit.

The sensation was rather annoying or neutral at best.

She tried to insert a second finger but gave up almost immediately because it just seemed to increase the discomfort.

Hermione wondered briefly how it was possible to insert anything else in there, considering that a single finger already seemed to take up too much space, but then told herself that if a child could come out of it, a penis shouldn't have had too much trouble getting in.

It was probably a matter of habit.

Hermione removed her finger and snorted.

She was thinking too much and feeling too little.

"Ok, no worries, Hermione, it's fine." She whispered, pulling her hands out to swipe her damp hair from her forehead.

Perhaps it was a little too optimistic to hope that stimulating the inside of her vagina would feel pleasant right away, especially since she was a virgin and not particularly horny at the moment..

Hermione didn't lose heart, she knew she had a couple more chances of winning that fight, even though she secretly cursed herself for not listening to Lavender with more interest when she had had a chance.

If only she could have had a couple of books... too bad in the 1940s books on sex were a utopia, let alone those on female masturbation!

Masters and Johnson were about twenty years away from making the discoveries and publications that Hermione might have found useful, although, if millions of women before her, had cracked the code without books and manuals, surely Hermione had a fair chance too.

She turned the blue-raspberry foam tap back on for a while, when she was satisfied with the result, she sat back down on the stone seat.

This time she put her hands to her nipples.

Tentatively, she stroked and squeezed, pinched and stimulated the two little pins on her chest. The sensation was pleasant this time, and she almost squealed from the satisfaction of the small result.

She continued like this for a while, relaxing under her ministrations, until she met her gaze in the large mirror in front of the tub.

God, what a small, flat breast. Most of her students had bigger breasts than hers, and most of her students were under fifteen ...

The thought suddenly made Hermione blush, she removed her hands from her chest and rose back on her feet to better scrutinize her figure.

She was no longer skeletal, as she had been back at the orphanage, but she could've surely made an effort and put on a few pounds.

Her breasts were really small… firm someone might have argued, but with that size ... it couldn't have been otherwise. There was really no danger of gravity having power over those two barely noticeable mounds of hers.

Her waist was much too thin, her ribs were visible, not all of them, but most of them.

The only thing Hermione liked in that picture was her face.

She could proudly admit it to be a nice looking face. Her nose was small and straight, her eyes were big and deep, she thought she had nice lips too.

Hermione focused on her reflection, trying to be less hard on herself.

Maybe she wasn't gifted with a cheeky beauty like Walburga Black's, nor a unique one like Rosier's, but all in all, she could be attractive too, unless one had a fetish for big breasts or curvy hips, of course.

In fact, there was someone who didn't mind that picture at all, even now, even with her small breasts and tiny butt... someone who was way too attractive for his captivation to make sense to her.

"Fuck ... I got distracted again!" Hermione glared in the mirror and sat back down.

She tried to touch her breasts again, repeating her now tested movements, only now she couldn't help but think about how small her boobs were.

"Okay. Clitoris. We'll try that." Hermione's hands went back under the surface of the water.

She relaxed her shoulders, leaned her head back on the edge of the tub and stroked the soft flesh between her legs delicately. She kept going for a while, adjusting pressure and pace as she went.

Enjoyable. Definitely interesting. Do elaborate, Mrs. Granger. Her mind purred.

 _"You should think of something arousing!"_ whispered a voice in Hermione's head, a voice that could have been Lavender's.

Hermione agreed. Something arousing might have helped indeed.

She flicked her index finger against her clit and a small jolt went through her whole body. The feeling fueled her spirit and she focused harder.

Ok. Something arousing ...

" _I love you so much… so much. Only you. I want to kiss you. I want you to want…"_ Hermione moaned softly, recognizing the tingling sensation building in her lower belly.

" _No one else will do. I love you. It's so frustrating to think that…"_

" _So now you touch yourself thinking of him? Nice job, 'Mione… this will surely help, right?"_ Hermione gasped in hearing the mocking thought pop in her head with the voice of Harry Potter.

She removed her hand and blinked several times.

He was right. Wait no, she was right.

What the fuck was she thinking?

The whole point was for her to stop lusting over Tom… she had to stop channeling her sexual tension towards him, otherwise this would have been just a pleasant and extremely dangerous waste of time.

Hermione scolded herself mentally for a while, although refusing to do so in Harry Potter's tone again.

She was conflicted enough about the odd dream she'd had in the infirmary that night as it was, no need to think about it now.

This wasn't the time to wrap her head about her moral quandaries, this was the time to figure out how to orgasm. Right.

She let her hand travel south once more, relaxed and resumed the motion of her digit.

Up and down. Side to side. She settled on slow circles.

Something arousing…

Hermione tried focusing on the memory of Ron.

Ron who now had a slightly sketchy face but still had his broad shoulders, his warm and reassuring hugs, his eyes ... green? Blue? Well ... clear eyes.

Ah! Freckles! Ron had freckles, Hermione remembered how she liked counting the freckles on his nose, she liked wondering how many there would be sprinkled on his shoulders and back.

Back. Back ... Tom's back was getting really wide. It was a good thing because his scars now looked a bit smaller... Who knew how much taller he would grow... Hermione let out a slow growl from the back of her throat.

RON! Ron ... he was sweet and loving ... Ron Weasley, whom she had loved so much and who had kissed her once. Their kiss had been... hurried? Tender! Certainly tender... quite chaste… nothing to do with the way Tom had slammed her into the wall last year at Hog's Head. Too bad she had been to angry and shocked to...

"Oh ... fuck ..." The heat was pooling itself in the bottom of Hermione's belly in small waves. It was definitely working.

Where was she? Ah Tom! NO! Ron!

 _"Oh… Granger likes the bad boys now... doesn't she?"_ Hermione grunted as her thoughts took the shape of a grinning Draco Malfoy, watching her with amusement from the threshold of her mind.

His features came to her much sharper and neat if compared to Ron's ... perhaps because he looked so much like Abraxas.

 _"Uh uh… I'm right, ain't it? Look at you, Granger, such a bad girl. You do like the bad ones! You like bad boys so much..."_ Hermione increased the pressure of her finger against her clit and almost roared out loud as the jolt of pleasure pierced her belly.

Too enraptured by her feelings, she no longer bothered with the direction of her thoughts. If Malfoy was what her mind needed, then Malfoy was what it would get.

She would have plenty of time to feel guilty and ashamed afterward.

Right now all she needed was ... what was it? She didn't quite know, but whatever it was, it was beyond the thin line of the horizon. She could almost glimpse at it in the red glowing energy behind her eyelids.

_"..so much, that you had to think of the evil Slytherin Death Eater to get turned on... you cheeky minx..."_

"God, I must be desperate…" she mumbled halfheartedly.

_"Remember when you slapped me, Granger? Be honest… were you hoping I would strike back, Granger? How much would you have wanted me to slap you back?"_

"Ugh ..." Hermione clenched her jaw and met her gaze in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes glistened, her lips were redder and her nipples two pinheads, just above the surface of the water.

Her skin burned, her wrist began to tire but she couldn't stop now, she wouldn't.

 _"But you are so perverse, sweet little Mud… Oh… not perverse up to that point eh?"_ Malfoy's trademark smirk crooked his lips and Hermione felt feverish, _"As you wish ... you're so perverse, you don't even settle for the Death Eater, Granger, mh?"_

Hermione's breaths became quick, shallow, she felt the sensation building towards something huge, something blinding, each of her muscles straining towards the sensation, ready to snap.

She tried to imagine the hand between her legs being Malfoy's. She tried to recall his expressions, amused, smug, haughty. God he was disgustingly good looking wasn't he? It was just so hard focusing both on the feeling and the remembering.

 _"Oh,"_ Malfoy pouted mockingly in her mind, _"A_ _re you so stubborn that you'll cling to the faded memory of your hot childhood bully rather than just...? Oh, Granger_ _… it won't do... We both know that the only way you will cross that line..."_

 _"Is with me… right?"_ Hermione squeezed her eyes, cussing loudly, as the image of Malfoy disappeared to make way for Tom's sly smirk, much brighter, much easier to bring to life in her mind, _"I can get you there, my love."_

God, those straight, white teeth. Those leaden and ocean eyes. Not a fuzzy memory, not just a voice or faded images in her head…

" _Just like that, yes… it's easier now, isn't it?"_

Much, much easier indeed. Hermione could almost picture the tense muscles of his forearm, diving into the water of the tub to become her hand.

" _Is it me you want to come for, mh? Almost there, my love… No one would laugh now if I said you were mine…"_

No. Fuck. Malfoy, damn blonde git. I'll let you call me whatever just… get your branded arse back here.

" _No."_ Tom commanded, _"You're all mine, my love, you know that… Think of me… I think of you all the time… you look so fucking beautiful, my love… love you so much… so much… good girl."_

Hermione felt her shoulders lift off the tub, so tense she thought they were about to snap.

The warmth in her belly seemed to be pushing her up, up, up towards some sort of peak, a very high peak.

Vaguely intimidated by the leap into the void that awaited her, she briefly contemplated stopping there. Maybe that was the best it would have felt, maybe going further would be painful.

But curiosity and her brave Gryffindor spirit, were cheering for her to walk the last mile.

The rhythm of her hand became frantic, images of familiar lips pressing against hers, flashing in her mind.

There was single fleeting moment of stasis.

A single beat of silence when it seemed that everything would be over before it could even start.

A beat of her heart. A shattered breath.

Then, gloriously, the orgasm crashed upon her.

Red and gold sparked before her eyes.

An electric shock that fractured into many smaller shocks.

Invisible and soft hands dissipated the heat in her belly, massaging it, distributing it to the rest of the body.

Pleasure. Simple, sudden and overwhelming pleasure.

"God…" Hermione was left spent and panting in the tub and feeling amazed. Feeling great!

So great that she couldn't even bother feeling guilty right now.

She felt like laughing, and she did.

Her laugh echoed in the marble bathroom, bouncing off the stone walls and the cold mirror.

Hermione lifted her index finger at the Hermione in the mirror, shaking it with somewhat of a victorious grin painted on her lips.

"God bless you, Lavender, you were onto something and I should've listened!" then her grin faded slightly, "And I'm totally fucked, aren't I?" She sighed.

 **He had already changed out** of his uniform and was wearing gray trousers, a cream-colored T-shirt with sleeves rolled up over his shoulders and two-toned Oxfords.

His hair had grown a little beyond its usual length and his curls fell over his temples, framing his face and making the flecks of snow in his irises stand out even more.

The hairstyle was more natural than the usual neat style he favored for school days but the result was just as elegant.

Then again, there was something innately delicate and aristocratic about Tom that allowed him to look expensive even in his pajamas… as if being sickeningly good-looking wasn't enough.

Hermione almost scoffed as she glimpsed at him from under her lashes.

If it weren't for his ability to swear like a sailor 90% of the time he opened his mouth, no one would have believed he had been raised in an orphanage on Dorset Street.

Hermione clung to that thought to try and suppress the tingling in her belly, which only grew though, as Tom's eyes lazily lifted from the line he was reading to settle on her instead.

"How did you get Dumbledore to give me an O?"

"Believe it or not," She grinned, "You did that all by yourself."

Tom handed her his report card with a Cheshire cat-like grin and Hermione hummed proudly, giving one last glance at the string of O's on the parchment, before dropping it back in her bag.

"I'm so proud of you, I could frame this one!"

"Yeah… don't… Aberforth would hang it behind the bar and pester half the town with his monologues on my genius…" He slipped his hands into his pockets in a boyish pose, and blew a curl out of his eyes, "Need to cut these when we get back…" he mumbled.

"Oh! Don't be mean! He's so proud of you! We both are… we might even turn your report card into a Christmas decoration for the town square Christmas tree!"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Now, wouldn't I?" Hermione raised a brow and Tom furrowed his in fake concern.

"Hey! I have a bad boy reputation to protect!"

"Don't worry, I doubt the girls at Honeydukes will stop handing out free chocolate just because you're a swot!"

"Well, I wouldn't want to risk it anyway!"

Hermione chuckled.

Tom rocked in place and sniffed slightly.

Hogwarts station was already crowded with students, and as the carriages arrived from the castle, more students huddled along the narrow platform filling it with excited chatter.

"What time are you leaving then?" Tom asked, acknowledging her trip to Paris for the first time since they'd first talked about it… or rather, argued about it.

"As soon as the train leaves I'll go back to the castle, Dumbledore will let me use the Floo ... maybe I'll stop home first, say goodbye to Aberforth..." She trailed off.

Tom nodded and bit his lower lip.

"What's up?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing."

"I know that face ... that's not a 'nothing' face."

"It's just..." Tom lowered his head in a dramatic bouncing of curls, hiding his expression from her and sniffing again.

Hermione took a wary look at her surroundings, then took a step closer, trying to ignore the fact that as soon as Tom's scent invaded her lungs, her face caught fire.

"What ...? What happened, Tom?" She asked worriedly, tilting her head to catch his eye.

"It's just ... well ... you ..." He sniffled again. Hermione's heart began to swell with apprehension and she patted him on the chest with her hand, trying to get him to lift his face. Was he ... crying?

"I just don't know… how you'll survive a whole month without me, my love..." Tom captured her wrist startling her and finally lifted his head, a mocking grin on his lips and mirth in his eyes.

"OH! You are a ... jerk, Tom Riddle!"

"HA! Gotcha! Did you really think I'd cry? HERE?!" his free hand gestured at the crowded surroundings.

"You're such a… gh! You scared me!"

"I'm serious though!" He laughed that rich contagious laugh of his and Hermione couldn't resist lifting the corners of her lips in a half smile, although still trying to look very much outraged, "You will probably fall ill from missing me! I've heard it can get bad! You shouldn't leave, really, I'm saying it for your own good!"

"I'll take my chances, you smug git! Plus, it's not like you're going home either, are you?" She protested trying to free her hand from his grip, concerned that someone might have caught up with the inappropriate behavior. The nurse had never looked at her the same since the night in the infirmary and she suspected the only reason Abraxas Malfoy feigned normalcy was Tom's murderous gaze.

"You could come with me! I'm sure the Malfoys and the Blacks have plenty spare rooms!"

"Pff! I'd rather go back to Dorset Street than stepping into Malfoy Manor!"

The words slipped out of her lips before she could stop them and Hermione hurriedly sought Tom's gaze for signs of suspicion or concern, suspending the struggle for her freedom.

"I can understand..." He sighed, "Bunch of pureblood supremacist snobs... I guess is not everyone's cup of tea." Hermione almost heaved a sigh of relief.

She really needed to pay more attention to what came out of her mouth.

"Not mine for sure! Tom, let go of my hand! Look they've opened the doors, you can get on board ..."

"One last thing!" he pleaded.

The crowd of students began to push towards the train doors in a flurry of excited voices, hooting owls, squeaking rats, croaking toads and shuffling trunks.

"Mate! We're boarding!" Abraxas Malfoy's voice reached them in the confusion. Hermione saw Tom gesturing that he would join soon and Malfoy nod in response.

She also saw Rosier rolling her eyes at the scene of her hand in Tom's grip and she blushed furiously, trying with renewed intensity to wriggle free before anyone else could have an opinion about it.

"Tom, you should really let go now." She used her free hand to try and pry his fingers open, but he just laughed at that.

"You don't think I'll leave without a hug, do you!?"

Hermione's attention was abruptly drawn to the pout on Tom's lips and she stammered empty words before managing an outraged tone.

"Don't be silly, Tom! Your friends will make fun of you! I… people are staring!"

"They won't and they are not. And you've been distant enough in the last couple of weeks, I'm getting my hug, whether you like it or not, then you can go back pretending you're not falling for my devilish charm."

With a firm tug Tom pulled her against himself and Hermione collided with his chest groaning in frustration at his physical strength.

"Ok! We hugged, now go!" She snapped pushing with both palms against his chest.

The butterflies in her belly begun fluttering in a murderous whirlwind of unwanted emotions, Hermione wanted to cry ... or press harder against him. Damn!

His chest quivered with a chuckle under her flustered cheek, and he finally let go, smiling maliciously at the sight of her face.

"It's just a hug, relax, no one will think much of it... it's not like you've kissed me or anything… not in a while anyway… want to make up for that?" he winked.

"You're umbeliav… the cheek of you, Tom! You got your hug! Just go!"

He giggled at her flustered expression and raised his hands in surrender.

"I'm going! I'm going! Have a nice journey, my love."

"Cheeky… arse… You have… journey too ... luv…" Hermione muttered gluing her eyes at the tip of her shoes.

"You have fun in Paris, but you wait for me, is that clear?"

Tom boarded the train without looking back before she could ask what he meant.

She knew anyway.

 **Tom realized that he had never really seen absolute terror** before catching a glimpse of the house elves in Malfoy manor.

The little creatures rarely made themselves visible, they preferred, and with good reason, to stay invisible most of the time, and carry out their duties in the most absolute discretion.

The few that Tom had caught sight of, had been covered head to toe with deep cuts, scars and bruises.

Their liquid, frightened eyes, nestled in skull-like heads on top of skeletal and mostly naked bodies, were so large and bulbous that one would have thought all their energy would have to go into holding the weight of them.

Tom watched the creature tremble violently as it poured more hot chocolate into his cup, and almost felt bad for it.

He didn't feel particularly comfortable under the hungry gaze of Malfoy's mother either, and he hadn't even had a taste of the violent side of her.

He looked up from the creature just as it disappeared into thin air, and smiled at the woman sitting across from him at the breakfast table.

She smiled back and hugged her shoulders slightly in a very feminine move that made her chest bulge past the plunging neckline of her robes.

Lady Malfoy was a frighteningly beautiful woman but her beauty was cold and cruel. She was beautiful in the way an ice sculpture is, you could look at it for hours but you wouldn't dream of touching it.

On the surface, she seemed frivolous and cheerful, flirtatious most of the time, yet if an elf did as much as step beyond her imaginary boundaries, she could kill it instantly and without sparing the corpse a second glance.

Similarly, she talked to Abraxas and his friends as if she were cooing at a bunch of puppies, yet under the veil of her mawkishness, there was something dangerous and sharp that couldn't really go unnoticed.

The treatment reserved for the elves was clearly not an exclusive one, Tom found confirmation in the fact that Abraxas was always quite wary when his mother was around. He'd measure his every word and movement, trying not to turn his back on her ever.

The way the boy danced around his mother, his unconscious attempt to always keep an escape route in his peripheral vision, spoke volumes about the situation.

However, it was nothing compared to the way Abraxas behaved in the presence of the paterfamilias.

That was another story entirely.

Brutus Malfoy was far less ambiguous in his character than his wife.

The man was austere, cold and aloof. He considered his family to be his flagship and would not allow any of its members to disappoint his expectations of them, which were obviously too high and impossible to meet, at all times.

During Tom and Lestrange's stay, Brutus had not beaten his son, although, the tension between the two, the way Abraxas seemed to completely withdraw within himself in the man's presence (perhaps to avoid provoking him in any way), were sufficient signs of their violent history.

After the first couple of days in the Manor, Tom had already made several mental notes to get Abraxas out of there sooner or later, that or they would have to find a way to get rid of Brutus and keep the inheritance and the Manor for Abraxas.

The Manor itself was indeed, a true masterpiece of wizarding architecture.

It was paved with precious marble floors, covered with carpets as ancient as the art of weaving them, and the ceilings were so high, you'd have to tilt your head all the way back to glance at the magnificent chandeliers dangling from them.

The walls shone with pure gold frames, containing equally bright and haughty portraits of men and women with eyes and hair as white as snow.

The two-story windows overlooked a lush park filled with fountains, labyrinths, statues and absurd albino peacocks.

Each fireplace was covered with precious ancient carvings, each sofa draped in the most precious silks and velvets and everything looked polished and clean, despite the newest item in the house being at least a couple of centuries old.

Tom had enjoyed every room, he had even allowed some of his appreciation to show on his face or let his jaw drop on a couple of occasions. However, it had been mostly to satisfy his vain hostess.

Deep down, Tom had soon convinced himself that he would always prefer the Hog's Head to any haughty manor.

His and Hermione's room at the inn was certainly small, a bit dusty and messy, because neither of them seemed particularly enthusiastic about cleaning it, but it had the scent of home, warmth and affection that this manor lacked entirely.

Aberforth, waiting behind the bar, with his apple pies, his floured apron, dirty hands and his beard-covered smile, was ten thousand times more inviting than the cold and impeccably dressed Brutus Malfoy, ready to stab his own son, had he breathed at the wrong pace.

Hermione, with her warmth and sweetness, her hugs, her messy curls and the enthusiasm that widened her gaze and smile every time Tom asked her an interesting question or suggested a walk in the woods, was much more precious than any fountain or peacock in the Manor.

As Tom saw it, he was rich enough not to feel real envy for the unbridled luxury surrounding him, and this perhaps was what most allowed him to hide his too humble origins.

"So how's your research coming along? Did you find anything useful?" Mrs. Malfoy asked, pulling Tom out of his thoughts and startling Abraxas, who was sitting next to him buttering a piece of toast.

Tom managed not to look surprised about the woman even knowing about his research. Of course she would've found out eventually.

"I'm afraid not, ma'am, although I have faith that with the number of volumes in your wonderful library, mine could be a problem of not knowing what to look for rather than having nowhere to look for it."

Mrs. Malfoy gleamed at the mention of the beauty of her library and she leaned forward slightly, resting her tiny chin on her pale, delicate hands, in a confidential and quite malicious pose.

Tom noticed out of the corner of his eyes, how Lestrange had immediately lost all interest in the eggs on his plate getting entranced with the woman's cleavage instead. He also sensed Malfoy tensing slightly.

"There must be some clue that you're not considering, clever boy. Why don't you try me? I might surprise you ... I'm not just rich and beautiful, you know?" Her head lolled from side to side as she chanted about her qualities and Tom had to resist the urge to lift his lip in an expression of cringe and disgust.

"You are very kind, ma'am, but I wouldn't want to bore you with my unsuccessful ancestral research."

Also, I'd much rather not tell you that I suspect my father was a muggle-born, since I very much enjoy not being cursed like a fucking house-elf. He kept that part for himself.

"On the contrary, it would distract me from boredom, tell me now, boy." This time, the woman's voice had taken the stiff inflection of an order, leaving no room to politely decline.

Tom wasn't sure he liked being bossed around, yet he couldn't do anything but comply at the moment given his circumstances.

His stomach churned slightly but he smiled charmingly nonetheless.

"You see, I've been looking all over for my father's name, ma'am, and I can't seem to find that name anywhere…"

"Mh… and you're sure you're father was a pureblood? There's an awfully small number of us as of lately, 28 families in all of Britain, would you believe that?"

"Ridiculous indeed." Mumbled Lestrange, his eyes still plunging in the woman's neckline, not that she had noticed or minded.

"Which is why, I'm sadly beginning to think he must've been a half-blood," That was putting it mildly, "Although, my lady," He added, not rushing at the frown slowly furrowing Mrs. Malfoy's tin brows, "There are certain traits about myself, that leave no room to speculation. There must be some pure blood within my veins, perhaps on my mother side… but if I do know little about my father, I know even less about my mother, I'm afraid."

The woman let her eyes roam on Tom's face appreciatively.

She took her sweet time studying every little inch of his face and even ventured a little hungry glance ad his chest and shoulders before she spoke again.

"Outstanding physical attractiveness seems to be there," She smiled slyly and Tom smiled back, feigning a shy lowering of his eyes before returning to hold the woman's gaze, "And as you can see from those sitting at this table, boy, whatever they may say nowadays, it is well known that beauty is one of the most obvious hallmarks of any pureblood ... unless you're a Longbottom that is…"

The three boys all nodded in agreement. Modesty not being a distinctive pureblood trait apparently.

"Aversion to Muggles?" The woman asked after a moment of ponderous silence.

"As long as I can remember, madam." Tom replied, without mentioning how traumatic his relationship with Muggles had been to justify that statement.

"Irrational fear of pigs?"

"I've never seen one in my life, ma'am."

"Mmh and we wouldn't have any to test it, disgusting creatures, we don't even eat them in our home… the mystery deepens!" Mrs. Malfoy shifted in her chair and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, Lestrange seemed to snap out of his trance as the woman's breast disappeared from view.

"We were trying to trace possible ancestors through the physical traits of each family, mother." Abraxas offered.

"Quite right." Mrs. Malfoy's eyes then returned to focus on Tom, and Tom hadn't been Tom, he might have blushed under the intensity of that gaze.

"You are clearly not a Malfoy." The woman smiled, casting a meaningful look at her son's pale hair, "For the same reason I would take the Macmillans and the Weasleys off the list too, thank you Merlin, hideous blood in those families, I wouldn't wish it on you."

Tom and Abraxas both nodded, clearly they too had discarded the two families due to the obvious physical differences.

"If you had straight hair I would have said Parkinsons or the Averys... but curly black hair is typical of both Rosiers, Blacks and Lestranges. Though you're clearly not a Rosier, they don't look THAT good. Lestranges and Blacks… but they have blue or raven black eyes, don't they? Those eyes of yours, boy ... those eyes of yours are really hard to place ... so peculiar... couldn't be from your half-blood father… such a dominant trait has to be from the pureblood side… The Greengrass have greyish eyes but… that blue… "

At this point it was clear that the woman knew her stuff on wizarding families, she seemed to be a resource that Tom had overlooked, determined as he had been to focus on books, he had underestimated the human resources at his disposal.

Who could have known more about pureblood families, than a bored member of the highest pureblood elite? The woman had probably spent her entire youth studying England's social wizarding network as her only pastime while waiting for marriage.

It was worth a try.

"I have two more clues, if I'm being perfectly honest, ma'am. Maybe you'll find them useful."

Mrs. Malfoy gestured for him to continue and Tom complied ... again ... this woman would pay for her attitude sooner or later, he told himself.

"Well, ma'am, I know my name is the same as my father's and that has led me nowhere so far… although I do know my middle name is that of my maternal grandfather, Marvolo that is. Besides ..."

Tom dismissed Hermione's mental image, suggesting that certain details shouldn't have been disclosed to just anyone. He had to risk it if he hoped to make any progress.

"I can speak Parseltongue, ma'am, which would seem to indicate ..."

But Mrs. Mafloy's eyes had grown large and she cut him off before he could finish.

"A lineage from… Salazar himself! Oh! This is very intriguing, boy, and lucky for you," she squealed excitedly, "I happen to know a things or two!"

At those words both Tom and Abraxas slid forward in their chairs, their expressions filled with anticipation, while Mrs. Malfoy enjoyed a long moment of suspense, for which Tom would have gladly strangled her.

"Well there was a pureblood family, now nearly extinct as far as I know, that claimed ancestry from Salazar himself ... and oh, guess what their specialty was?" The woman licked her lips.

She was enjoying the distraction as much as the attention, that was quite obvious, although Tom would've much preferred if she had cut the theatrics and just spilled the tea already.

"... Parseltongue?" Lestrange asked when none of the other boys seemed about to do so.

"Precisely! And that's not even all of it... the name Marvolo, you see, it was actually quite common in that family."

"What's the family name?" Tom's mouth was completely dry by now and his eyes, as wide as those of the elves scurrying around the manor.

Mrs. Malfoy gave him a sly smile of victory, she paused, relishing in his full attention, she then bent forward, once more destroying any of Lestrange's focus with a display of her creamy breasts, squeezed between her neckline and the surface of the table.

"You should be looking for clues on th Gaunts. That was the family name: Gaunt."

 **The three boys were lying in the soft grass of the garden, the air was hot** and humid and it smelled good, it made Tom think of home **.**

He missed home. He missed Hermione. Badly. He was sick and tired of the luxurious dinners and the ten minutes trips to find the nearest bathroom.

Tired of all the absurd rules of that too big and too clean house. He was tired of having to shut up while Brutus insulted Abraxas, he was tired of Mrs. Malfoy's eyes weighing and measuring him, at all times.

He wanted to go back to arguing over the extent to which it was socially acceptable to wear his pajamas, to steal chocolate from Hermione's 'secret' drawers, to learn the newest cusses and swear words while sitting at the bar of the Inn, with Aberforth grunting at the drunkards on duty.

He craved simpler foods. He would even be persuaded to eat one of the hideous vegetable pies that Hermione persisted in stubbornly preparing (or burning).

The sky looking back at the three boys was so full of stars that it seemed inlaid with pure silver threads. The moon, a perfect round shape above their heads, so big it felt like you could touch it just by reaching out your hand.

Tom took a swing from the Firewhiskey bottle they had sneaked out, he passed it over to Malfoy.

"I think ..." the boy said, struggling to get the words out, as if there had been something big blocking his throat, "I think my dad signed my betrothal."

"Oh." Said Lestrange propping himself up on his elbows to glance at the blonde boy.

"Do we ... know her? Is she one of us?" Tom asked, taking the bottle back.

Malfoy shook his head in his peripheral vision.

"I ... I don't know. He hasn't told me yet."

"Well that sucks…" muttered Lestrange returning his gaze to the sky.

"Are you ok?" asked Tom.

Again Malfoy shook his head and Tom turned to really look at him.

Abraxas' eyes were bright and big, aimed at the firmament as if they were the only thing preventing it from falling and crushing them all. Maybe they were.

He seemed so fragile and yet so proud under that infinite sky, with the tears he didn't want shed, dancing in his eyes. Something about that picture reminded Tom of a proud younger version of himself and a new odd feeling swam in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm sorry." He offered, and oddly enough, he found those words to be true.

"Do you think I could come to the Black's with you next week?"

"You'd have to ask your father... is it worth it?" Lestrange asked taking the bottle from Tom, still too entranced by the sight of Malfoy to care about drinking.

"He can come." Tom said, "We'll think of something."

Lestrange nodded solemnly and Malfoy whirled to look at Tom, a tear wavering from the confines of his eye in motion and trickling down his temple and into the grass.

"Thanks."

"'course."

Tom just shrugged.

"Pass that bottle to Malfoy, he needs it way more than you do, Lestrange."

 **"You can put this away too ..."** Abraxas yawned, handing a particularly damaged book to Lestrange, who whistled off through the shelves.

"You could have any elf do it ..." Tom smiled, stretching in his chair.

"And deny myself of the sight of the Lestrange heir acting as a servant?!" He smirked, "I doubt he minds, by the way, he doesn't seem too eager to sit down and research with us ..."

"Definitely."

"If his father could see him..." Abraxas' wicked grin faded slightly.

"What about his father?" Tom asked, deciding he could take a break from research.

They had been bent over books for most of the afternoon already and their eyes burned from the effort to decipher the scriptures of the older volumes.

"Oh, his father? A complete nutjob... it might be because his family is very into inbreeding, that's what my father says anyway. The only other family they mix with is the Blacks, and they carry that cute madness gene if you remember." Malfoy shrugged, "Combined with the Lestranges' well-known short temper, it creates specimens like our Lestrange. Poor guy, I can't blame him, he's even too sane considering his origins."

"I would argue that the same could apply to any of us..."

Malfoy snorted in amusement and nodded with a kind of defeated look in his eyes.

"Damn right... we're are all broken to some degree, as rotten as beggars and mudbloods. Sons and daughters of violence and abuse, unable to save their children from the same torture." Malfoy deflated in his seat and shook his head, "My father seems set onto molding me into whatever it is he wants, with the mere use of his fists, and guess what? He's still one of the nicest ones."

"It could have been worse, Malfoy, Walburga has been through all sorts of abuse, Avery's father blames his son for the death of his wife. Mulciber gets more beatings than a Bludger and Rosier… well she's too beautiful for her own good…" Tom sighed.

"Sure." Abraxas muttered, "Lestrange's father uses Imperio on his own son and that's probably still better than Nott, who gets crucioed whenever his mother is in the wrong mood. But you know what? Thinking that it could've been worse still doesn't cheer me up in the slightest, Riddle. Sure it could've been worse… it could have been better too. And how will I be any different from my father when all I can feel inside is this... fucking blinding rage."

Tom nodded briefly, enchanted by the immense sadness on his friend's face. He had recovered from the shock of his betrothal, but anger and frustration kept running wild in his system and Tom couldn't really blame him. If anyone understood anger, that was him.

"Maybe you were lucky in a way, Riddle. Perhaps, sometimes, I envy you."

Well, now that was surprising and a little offensive. Tom could have understood being envied for his magical skills, for his intellect and for his innate ability to lead, perhaps his physical appeareance (although Malfoy was quite the good looker himself)... but for the abuses he suffered? It was just ludicrous.

"Envy me?" Tom pulled the collar of his shirt slightly, revealing some of his ancient wounds, "Me? Believe me, Malfoy, you need to be a different kind of desperate for that." He scoffed, but the blond boy's gaze did not lose intensity.

"Don't get me wrong, Riddle. I'm not trying to belittle whatever happened to you, nor do I envy your harsh childhood. Frankly, I'm quite sure you survived way worse than anything I ever had to endure." He scoffed, "Although you'd have to admit that being tortured by your onw flash and blood holds quite the remarkable degree of betrayal."

"What I mean is, we're all fucking scarred and broken, some more than others, but at least… at least you've had your Mrs. Granger… You've had a chance at something a bit better. It feels like that made you stronger. Which, I don't know, might be part of the reason why we all cling to you, also, the reason we feel oddly protective towards her, even without you asking. Sometimes I envy that. Sometimes, I envy the light she conjures up in your eyes. If it makes any sense. I would happily give all my gold for something so simple and genuinely good." Abraxas cheeks were bright pink by the time he managed to get all of his speech out and Tom glued is gaze on the books.

"Oh." He cleared his throat with a light cough, it was strange how he didn't feel disgusted or suddenly nervous that Malfoy had just shown such a deep and vulnerable part of himself, "I ... yes I was lucky enough in that sense, I guess... I mean, I'm not the posterchild for mental health, but since 'fucked up in the head' seems to be the common trait in nearly all pureblood families ... imagine what level of fucked up I would have been had my parents raised me. She made a difference."

Tom offered a half smile and Malfoy nodded pursing his lips.

"But we're still set on finding them, right? Your most probably fucked up relatives… Far be it from me to want to change your mind, and know that I would follow you to the edge of the world, Riddle, but you may not like what you find ... what if you should enjoy the good that you have been granted... it's still much more than some of us will get anyway, pure blood and all."

"There are things… I need to know." Tom muttered and diverted his gaze, "Things I can't ignore."

For a moment there he feared having relaxed too much in the presence of the other boy, he feared Malfoy would step over the line and ask something stupid or too personal, he feared a Walburga-like situation could repeat itself. It would have been really unpleasant because Tom had developed a kind of soft spot for Malfoy.

Luckily, Malfoy just nodded once, stretched his arms forward and pulled another volume from the stack in front of them.

"Malfoy?"

"Mh?"

"You trust me, right?"

"More than I trust myself, Riddle." He replied absentmindedly, already flipping through the first pages of the next book.

"So, do you trust me when I tell you that things will change? It won't suck forever… it will come… your chance at something slightly better will come too, you trust me on that?"

Malfoy looked up straight into Tom's eyes and spoke without a moment of hesitation.

"Forgive me for answering your question with a question, but why the fuck would I be here if I didn't think you'd be the fucking breakthrough, Riddle?"

 **Tom sat up in bed and muttered an invitation** when knuckles rapped lightly on the door later that night.

On another occasion he would have pretended to be already sleeping, it was late and he was tired. In this case, however, he would have made an exception.

After all, one should never postpone the collection of a debt, nor the opportunity to gloat a little, especially after all the work he'd done! He deserved to bask in his friend's admiration and gratitude.

"Riddle? May I?"

"Yeah."

There was a short, hesitant pause.

"Riddle, what did you do?"

"What do you mean?" he asked with feigned ignorance.

"My father ... he was, well let's say: astonishingly enthusiastic, not to say oddly euphoric, about my request to visit the Blacks with you ... what… did you do?"

"Forgive me, if I answer your question with a question..." Tom made sure his grin would be seen even in the dim-lit room, "Are you not satisfied with that?"

"... Of course I am but ... he… will… this could really backfire! You can't use magic outside of Hogwarts, Riddle! You could get in big…"

"Do I strike you as someone who would jeopardize their interests for someone else? Come on, you know me! If it makes you feel better, had there been the slightest risk, Malfoy, I wouldn't have bothered. I like you, but you don't weigh that much on my scale…"

There was another short tension-filled pause, then Malfoy released a breath and Tom saw him shake his blonde head in awed disbelief.

"You did something then… messed with his head…" he scoffed, almost amused.

"Did I?" Tom grinned, "Perhaps he was just high… perhaps a bit drunk!".

"I owe you one, Riddle."

"Good night, Malfoy."

"Night."

 **"Little Hangleton!"** Malfoy gasped, a hand clutched to his chest and eyes wide open in a wild expression.

Tom, Walburga and Orion looked up from their books at the same time.

"What about Little Hangleton?" Tom asked, but Malfoy held a finger in front of him, signaling the need to catch up with his breath first.

"Phineas ... Phineas Black!" Huffed out the blonde, when the wait threatened to be too long for Tom's explosive temper.

"Phineas Black?" Walburga asked with a frown, "Isn't that a portrait on the third floor?"

Malfoy nodded vigorously and coughed.

"I was, I was thinking out loud upstairs, pacing along the corridor ... don't judge!" Malfoy blushed, "Anyway, the portrait ... Phineas Black, he started muttering shit at me, saying I was getting it all wrong and ... well it looks like he knew the Gaunts! He said the family lived in Little Hangleton!"

Tom jumped to his feet.

"Oh ... fuck ... Malfoy, I could kiss you."

"I'm sure Cygnus would be amok jealous, but if you can't hold back ..." finally, a satisfied grin spread across Malfoy's face.

"Well, fuck! I have to go to Little Hangleton, how far is that? Do I even have enough time? Orion, can you arrange a Floo or something? How long would it take?"

"Shouldn't be a problem, let me check." Orion got up and stalked towards the shelf housing all of the atlases and geographic maps.

Grimmauld Place library had turned out to be way smaller than that in Malfoy Manor, but equally loaded with antique precious and, slightly dangerous, volumes.

Some so interesting and dark, that Tom hadn't resisted from borrowing.

His trunk now weighed a couple of tons, crammed as it was with the books collected at Malfoy Manor and those he had gotten from the Blacks, but it didn't matter, he was sure it would all be worth it. The funny Occlumency trick he had used on Malfoy Senior was quite the proof of that.

It certainly wasn't every day that one could gain access to that kind of magical knowledge.

"I can't believe it! Progress at last!" Walburga celebrated. She leaned forward and closed the book before Tom with a sharp snap , "We still have a couple of days before you'll have to go back to Hogsmeade, that might be enough to actually find someone... isn't that exciting?" She added.

Tom nodded absently, his thoughts already running wild with possibilities. He had never been so close to discovering something about himself before. If he really was a descendant of the Gaunts, that would mean he was Slytherin's heir as well ... what if the last of the Gaunts had known about his father? What if he could find him alive!?

Cygnus chose that moment to enter the library at a brisk pace, waving a large envelope over his head and catching everyone's attention, except for Orion's, who was already nose-deep in a map and looking for Little Hangleton.

"More news? Good news?" Walburga asked excitedly.

Cygnus held out the envelope to Tom, he took it and tore it open in an instant.

"It's from Nott, it just arrived." was all Cygnus offered to Walburga and Abraxas.

"And what does it say?" Malfoy asked impatiently.

"What do I know, it says it's for Riddle."

"Well from the murderous look on Riddle's face..." Walburga trailed off.

"Found it! Little Hangleton! Not even that far… Should we start arranging the trip?" Orion looked up from the map waiting for directions.

"Yeah… I… I need you to arrange a Floo for me." Tom said quietly, blinking away his anger and occluding with all his might to avoid bursting into flames on the spot.

"Sure. I just have to figure out how many intermediate stops and ..."

"No, Orion, I need a Floo for Paris. I have the address in my trunk upstairs." At those words Cygnus was already halfway out the door and headed for the trunk in the guest room, four floors above the library in Grimmauld Place.

"Paris? Do you want me to go with you?" Malfoy asked.

"No ... I can sort this out on my own. It's not something that requires assistance. Do write to Nott though, and thank him for me, will you?"

"Will do."

"What about Little Hangleton then?"

"Well, it's not like it's going anywhere is it? I'll reschedule.. maybe next Summer?" Tom had other things to think about right now, Little Hangleton had already slipped into the background of his mind.

He had lived almost 15 years without knowing a single thing about his parents, he could manage one more. On the other hand, things with Hermione had just started to get on the right track… he would rather be damned than take another step back with her.

Not now that she had started blushing so delightfully in his presence. Not now that she would quiver pleasantly whenever he'd touch her. They were too fucking close to let Frenchie take his Hermione on suspiciously romantic trips throughout France.

Sure she had said there had been nothing between her and the French arse and sure, Tom had wanted to believe it… still… things might have changed… fuck! He should've never have left her for a whole month… and without even sealing any kind of deal first.

And what the fuck was she thinking anyway? Staying at Nott's with that fucking French boy?! Thank Merlin, Nott had been the one to see her! Nott, who was perhaps the only one in all of Hogwarts not interested in gossip. Nott, who was Tom's favorite after Malfoy.

Had any other student witnessed Hermione gallivanting France, alone with a man… word would have gotten out! And then… then what? God, he was about to pop a vein or something.

"Sure, as you… as you wish, I guess…" Orion folded his map and put it back on the shelf, a confused frown on his face as he reached for a map of France.

 **"What do you think got into him?"** the boy asked when Tom left them alone in the library an hour later.

"Merlin, Orion, how can you be so dense?!" Snarled Walburga, "He wants to go to Paris! Doesn't ring a bell? Nott's manor is in France... Nott writes and suddenly Tom has to leave for Paris… You really don't get it?"

Orion kept frowning and Walburga rolled her eyes so hard they hurt.

"Who went to Paris for the summer? Who's the only human being holding any power over Riddle? The only one he'd leave a months-long search halfway through for?" She spat, gesturing animatedly with both of her hands all through her reasoning, "The woman he has almost driven those fucking Gryffindors mad for, Orion? Merlin, seriously!?"

Orion raised an eyebrow and Malfoy snorted in exasperation.

"Mrs. Granger, Black! The Assistant was in Paris... something must have happened with her, don't you think?"

"Oh, right, I forgot. Right."

"I bet it's not even a serious matter. Ridiculous ... mention of that woman and he drops everything to run to Paris. I will never understand what's so special about her..." Walburga grimaced.

"Oh, Wally, jealousy really doesn't suit you." Malfoy cooed as he dropped in one of the empty chairs with a smirk. The girl glared at him fiercely but didn't deny her feelings.

"Now, why would she be jealous?" asked Orion.

Walburga sighed, casting a meaningful glance at her bethroted. Malfoy laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas has gotten under Tom's skin, hasn't he? Damn Malfoys and their gray puppy-eyes... I couldn't resist a bit of bromance...  
> Until next time,  
> M.


	10. Chèrie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I hope you are all doing well and holding on in these odd times of ours!  
> Here comes Chapter 10, there is a small chance that it will turn up your nose a little if you are very concerned with Tom's young age ... I'm sorry? Please, do always keep in mind the rating of the story and know that the characters are all fictional!  
> Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews and precious support! I am very happy to be part of this community and that you are having fun with me :)  
> And now ... where were we? Oh, Right... someone got snitched on! Let's spice things up a bit, what do you say?  
> Love, M.

**Chapter 10: Chèrie**

His pupils dilated slightly, then shrunk considerably, until they were just two tiny dots in the meadow of his irises.

Hermione saw the muscles in his shoulders flex slightly as he strove to be as gentle and delicate as his large frame allowed.

Her heart was thumping so loudly against her eardrums that when Herbert asked "Are you comfortable, chérie?" in his warm and low voice, making eye contact with her for the briefest moment before turning his focus down low, she feared he may have heard it too.

His glasses were slightly fogged and his forehead and neck, sleek with sweat already.

Hermione hesitated.

She adjusted her legs.

"Yes." She whispered, steadying herself.

"Parfait, alors..." he murmured, "You just stay very still, chérie ... oui? You relax, I put this in… and we're done... we take a break… what is it you say all the time?"

"Easy peasy?"

"Right. Easy peazy. Ready?"

Herbert was an anxious talker.

Whenever he was particularly tense, worried or embarrassed, Hermione had noticed, he would become very talkative. It didn't bother her most of the times, but it could get unnerving when she wasn't particularly calm either, and at the moment she wasn't calm at all.

"Ready." Hermione muttered, without looking up, "Hurry up, I don't know how long I can resist!"

"Oui, chèrie... stay... still..." He begun moving closer and Hermione held her breath, "I'll be quick and accurate."

"Gentle… gentle." She commanded, her pupils dilating.

"Ok… ok... here we go. No going back." He whispered, his tongue poked out of the corner of his lips as he adjusted himself.

There was a moment of absolute silence in the room, tense silence, hot and suffocating silence.

Hermione mentally cursed the damn house for forcing them into a windowless room, not quite idyllic in the middle of July.

Then, the silence was broken by the crystalline sound of the sand crystals hitting the containment glass of the Time-Turner.

The cold shiny metal of the jewel shone in Hermione's hands, trembling only slightly in an effort not to cause significant spills.

The sand twisted prettily on itself when it hit the glass that would have imprisoned it, creating microscopic and hypnotic whirlpools, sparkling pink and purple before settling gently on the bottom of the container as if it were just harmless colored sand.

Herbert stopped pouring when the small glass container was halfway full.

As soon as the sand vial in his hand righted back up again, both he and Hermione released the breath they had been holding until then.

Hermione quickly inserted the small golden cap onto the container and gently blew on Time-Turner, to get rid of any possible remnant on its surface.

Herbert put the main vial in its rack and capped it too. A shiver shook him violently as soon as he finished applying a small anti-spill ward around the workstation.

"Are you ok, Herb?"

"Oh, chérie, I think tension affected my nerves. That was positively nerve-racking!" he smiled, raising a shaky hand to show it to her.

Hermione smiled back and took his hand, rubbing it vigorously between her smaller ones.

When her fingers found Herbert's she gasped softly.

There must have been over 100 degrees in that room, and Herbert's hand was frozen solid.

"Woah, Herb, you really need to loosen up a bit! We have two more to fill! You'll give yourself a stroke or something… This isn't the first time you handle the sand!"

"It may not be the first time but still... I find it hard to relax while handling a sand of time that could mess up my entire faculty of conceiving space and time at the slightest mistake..." he laughed nervously.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "When you put it that way… Though, look at me! Tugged nearly seventy years into the past, and I'm a flower! Not a wrinkle nor a dent! As good as new!"

"Except for the runes carved here and there…" He raised a brow smirking, embracing her attempt at lightening the mood.

"Well, yeah, but that was mostly my doing." She grinned.

"Excuse me! I believe I carved several of those on your back myself! You're welcome!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and waved off his smug with an annoyed gesture as she moved away from him and around the desk.

She slipped the time-turner they had just filled into the small wooden box with the Notts crest, lying on the table opposite the workstation, and she pulled out an empty one.

"Anyway," Herbert sat back in his stool, "I'd rather not risk any more undesired time-travelling. It was quite traumatic to have a glimpse into the Middle Ages already..."

They both snorted a laugh.

"Are you thinking about the Notts again?"

"Again?! I'm scarred for life! I mean, chérie, did you see how that crazy old man treated you?"

Hermione frowned, pretending to search through her own memories.

"How he treated me? Must have escaped my attention, I was too focused on the stuffed dragon heads hanging from the living room walls!"

Herbert's jaw dropped theatrically.

"Do you think those were real?!"

"Of course they were real, Herb ... and pure savagery if you ask me!"

"Shit! Then the house-elves heads too?" His eyes grew even wider when his gaze met Hermione's and his nose curled, "Ugh! It can't be! Who the hell would want to stuff an house elf? Is it even legal?"

Hermione shrugged, remembering the several house-elf heads hanging on the walls of Grimmauld place. Stuffing one's most loyal servants was apparently not an unusual practice among families of a certain caliber.

"I doubt Cantankerus Nott cares too much about what's legal and what's not…" she lifted the time-turner so that it would dangle between them, "Unfortunately… that played in our favor… Merlin, I don't think I've felt this guilty in ages."

"Rather," scoffed Herbert, "I never thought it possible to find such magical advancement in such deeply ignorant and retrograde individuals ..." Herbert muttered, cracking his fingers and rubbing them, lost in thought.

It was true.

Visiting the Nott family had been a weird experience and not one Hermione would be eager to repeat.

The Nott family was a living oxymoron.

From the point of view of magical and scientific progress, the Notts represented the pinnacle of the avant-garde of the time.

Their Archamps estate was equipped with more state-of-the-art potion labs than bedrooms.

Whole wings of the house were dedicated exclusively to the storage and study of the most curious magical artifacts; there were so many libraries in that house, that there seemed to be one for every possible subject one could think of; the park, which extended for acres all around the boundless property, was filled with cages and fences housing the most disparate fantastic beasts, and greenhouses and gardens, where the rarest and most precious plants grew and bloomed beautifully.

The men of the Nott household were all quite well versed in alchemy, the art of brewing potions, curse breaking (or making, depending on the need) and working with magical metals. The women of the Nott household were well versed in the arts of healing, herbology and astronomy (and Hermione had a feeling, they would have been well-versed for a lot more, hadn't they had to abide by the limits imposed on their gender).

Of course, Hermione had already had a taste of the family's passion for study and of their innate prowess in the magical arts, thanks to Eurus.

Eurus Nott was in fact, among the most brilliant students of Hogwarts, and Tom's study partner par excellence.

The boy was so quick in learning and mastering complex spells and concepts, that Hermione had often wondered what could have gone wrong in Eurus' lineage to justify the existence of the future Theodore Nott, a boy so little academically relevant to deserve a round of applause whenever he was able to distinguish his wand from an ordinary twig (or his own head from Malfoy's arse...)

Unfortunately, part of the answer to Hermione's quandary came when she and Herbert arrived to Archamps.

As wonderfully open-minded as the Notts were about their studies, they were also the most conservative pureblood family one could ever think of.

The family walked such a fine line between being conservative and being ignorant goats about it, that it became easier to explain how some of its members might have disconnected from the more intellectual streak of the family, to embark on full-time supremacist madness instead.

The examples of how antiquated they could be in that regard were many, striking and not at all concealed.

Indeed, the Notts seemed to have gone to great lengths to ensure that their political and social tendencies would soon be obvious to anyone stepping into their not so humble abode.

To begin with, the house was stuffed with house elves, completely naked house elves, walking around with PHYSICAL chains tying their bony ankles and wrists, ridiculous considering how their very own servile nature would provide a strong enough chain itself.

The walls of the house were covered with trophies of not-quite-legal hunts and artifacts celebrating the superiority of the pureblood race.

Smaller versions of the hideous statue Hermione had seen in the Ministry of Magic under Voldemort's short dictatorship, the one depicting muggles crushed under figures of noble-looking pureblood witches and wizards, were scattered throughout the house and the gardens.

Several books and posters, left in strategic areas, hinted at the family's penchant for Grindelwald's revolutionary ideas regarding the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, others, glorified Muggle persecution to the point that perhaps Grindelwald himself would have been a little outraged, since his propaganda wasn't all that extreme in that sense.

However, if those weren't glaring enough examples of the Nott's fixation for race purity ... looking at how the family had decided to handle Hermione, would have eliminated any remaining doubts.

The Notts had hosted Herbert and Hermione in the name of the good relationship with the Flamels, a relationship based solely on magical research and their mutual love for science, which had often lead to the two families to take advantage of each other's brains and resources over the centuries.

However, from the moment Hermione had been introduced as a Granger, which identified her as a half-blood at best (she doubted the Notts had thought Herbert crazy enough to bring a muggleborn into their home), the warm welcome the Notts had clearly prepared for their guests had become anything but.

Nott's mother, believe it or not the most progressive of the house, had opted to treat Hermione as nothing too different from the creatures she fostered in her luxurious gardens.

Whenever Hermione had tried to strike up a conversation, the woman had simply shrugged and smiled condescendingly, the way one would have smiled at a talking parrot.

Cantankerus, a step ahead of his wife instead, had decided that Hermione (who also came with the aggravating circumstance of being a woman and moreover, not married), would not have spoiled his pure world with her uncomfortable existence.

The paterfamilias solution, therefore, had been to ignore the girl's existence completely.

Child's play for him, since he wasn't the talkative type to begin with.

The couple had been so openly annoyed by Hermione's dubious ancestry, that she had been rather surprised to have received a seat at the dinner table (however, her glimpse of hope would have been soon annihilated when, halfway through the dinner, the hosts had made it clear: Hermione had been allowed to sit at the table only because she was a friend of the Flamels and, alas, Eurus' teacher).

It had been a humiliating and rather gloomy stay.

Herbert had immediately offered to leave, indignant at the Notts' behavior, but Hermione had insisted that they sucked it up and stayed, reasoning that as disgustingly racist and retrograde as they were, the Notts had kept their word and had crafted the three promised time-turners within the promised deadlines.

The least Hermione and Herbert could do was pay off as agreed, and if the Flamels had promised to lend the Nott family Herbert's expertise and his knowledge in the care of magical beasts in exchange for the time-turners, then that was exactly what they would have granted.

Hermione had preferred to be discriminated against and looked down upon for a couple of days, rather than be the cause of a feud, plus, she had not wanted to risk ruining the relationship between Tom and Eurus, considering that the number of boys Tom seemed really fond of, was already quite meager as it was.

As a consequence, Herbert had been in a foul mood the whole time of their stay and Hermione had spent most of her time locked up in their room or ransacking the way too many libraries in the house, trying to be as invisible as possible.

However, when on the third day Herbert had entered the room asking her if she'd rather leave the next morning or that same evening, Hermione hadn't had to think about it twice. She'd been out the door in just under five minutes, all packed and ready to go.

"Should we fill the second one and see how it goes?" Herbert asked glancing at the vial on the table, "I wonder whether it will be enough for the three… it doesn't look like there's much of it left…" he mumbled to himself.

Hermione nodded and begun unscrewing the golden cap of the second time-turner with delicate movements.

"Nasty family those Notts, I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like them..." She added to the previous topic of conversation, "By the way, a real shame for their son! Oh, you should meet their son, a brilliant boy indeed, Herb!"

"Oh yes! A phenomenal boy!" Herbert said enthusiastically.

"Precisely!" Hermione nodded cheerfully as she made her way back to the workstation, "He really is a marvel! He and Tom are just a deligh... wait ... what… how do you know?"

"How do I know, what?"

"About Eurus?"

"The boy?"

"Yes, Eurus Nott ... he wasn't in Archamps ..." Hermione's heart squeezed slightly in apprehension.

She hadn't seen Eurus during their stay in Archamps and had assumed he'd decided to spend the holidays with Tom and the other boys back in England.

It had also been quite relieving!

First of all, Hermione appreciated her student not being present while his parents treated her like a dirty rag.

Secondly, the absence of Eurus, therefore the absence of witnesses, had spared Hermione from writing Tom about her visit to Archamps… which would have involved making up excuses as to why she had gone there to begin with, as well as admitting she had had to share a room with Herbert...

"Of course he was there! Eurus was my ray of light in the dark, if I may say so." Herbert thundered gleefully, failing to notice the life being drained from Hermione's face, "A sensational boy! If it weren't for his help I would never have been able to treat the Thestrals in such a short time! A very curious boy! He asked a lot of interesting questions! Lots about you too! Could it be, he has a little crush on his teacher? Well, we can't blame him, can we?" Herbert grinned as he adjusted his stool, "He wasn't allowed to have dinner with the adults. Some rules, uh? I just don't get all of these ancient etique…"

Finally, Herbert looked up and the words died on his lips as his eyes met Hermione's ghostly complexion.

"What is it, chérie? Do you feel ill? Is it the heat?"

"I ... um ... I didn't know Eurus was at home. So ... he… so he asked about me ... hm? How… nice…" Hermione coughed and gulped loudly, trying to fight the sudden dryness of her mouth.

Fuck. Fuck, indeed.

He knew. Tom knew. Not only did he know she had shared her room with Herbert of all people… he knew she hadn't told him too.

There was no way in hell Eurus had kept his mouth shut… that boy had a lot of good qualities and unfortunately his loyalty to Tom was one on them.

So long for all the trust work she and Tom had done... why did she always fall into the same error pattern? What was she? Stupid or something? Why hadn't she just told him?

Could she fix it now somehow? Could she just write a letter now?

'Oh by the way, I went to Archamps, such a nice and creepy place. I shared my room with the men you gave me hell for in the past year and a half! But no worries, love, no funny business there! Why, mostly because I'm an idiot and I'm helplessly falling for a boy I basically raised myself! Xoxo, love, 'Mione'

Well, wouldn't that have been a fun historical record of Hermione's existence for posterity?

"Hermione, chérie, you sure you're all right? You're shaking…"

Hermione jerked out of her thoughts and Herbert shot forward, one hand cupped under the time-turner, eyes as wide as his round glasses.

Hermione gave him an apologetic smile and laid the jewel into his steadier hands, "I'm sorry, this… you may be right, Herb, the heat must have gotten to me, could we perhaps take a break? I could use some fresh air."

"Sure, let me take care of this mess, you go ahead, look for the kitchen, drink something. Have you even had anything to eat today…?"

"I think there has been nothing edible in the house for a while now... the last thing I remember eating was those stale biscuits we found in that library... was it yesterday?"

Herbert smiled kindly.

"I reckon more than that… look, you may still make it to the baker. There is still a long way to go before the curfew."

"Yeah, I guess I could eat something..." she lied, as her stomach twisted on itself completely shutting down at the mere idea of receiving food right now.

"There's money in my jacket, on the armchair, yes there, do not forget the ration book. I'll be down in a minute and start the tea, we can get back to the second time-turner later tonight, we'll see about the third one..."

Hermione nodded, gave Herbert a peck on the cheek and walked away on wobbly knees.

As the house led her through a ridiculous number of messy living rooms, small armies of cats and rooms carpeted with paintings loudly lamenting Perenelle's artistic additions to their canvases, Hermione worked on lowering her heartrate.

She barely even noticed when the house finally took pity on her, letting her out on the street.

Ok, so… no one likes being caught in lying, obviously, however the strong physical reaction she was experiencing seemed a bit exaggerated.

Hermione frowned at her shaky hands.

This was certainly not her. Panic over such nonsense?

After all, what had really happened?

Yes, she had omitted her visit to Archamps…

Was it really that bad?

 _Of course it's not that bad, you stupid bint_ , whispered a sour voice in Hermione's head _, after all, it was just the trigger for one of your most furious arguments in the past ... the one that started to radically change your entire relationship... No a big deal, right? Plus… you have the ability to get caught whenever your 'omissions' involve a certain Flamel… good luck with that._

Hermione swallowed hard and clenched her hands into fists.

_How many times have you already promised you wouldn't lie to him? Cause, more than once feels like one too many already… good example you're setting there, by the way! Ten points to Gryffindor…_

"Agh… I fucked up, haven't I?" Hermione whined quietly to herself as she crossed the road and walked into the shop.

There was no chance that Tom wouldn't be currently furious with her.

Damn, Eurus… no… damn her!

Maybe she deserved it ... maybe she deserved the huge fight awaiting for her back home.

Perhaps now she'd lose the damn habit of lying over such trivial matters! If only she'd told him!

Yeah, he'd be pissed anyway, but not as pissed off as he would have been now ...

"Mademoiselle." Greeted the baker, getting up from a creaking seat and leaning over the counter.

"Monsieur, une miche de pain, s'il vous plaît." she asked the baker for a piece of bread, her French accent uncertain but not enough to arouse suspicion apparently.

"Carte d'Alimentation?" Asked the old man.

Hermione held out the Flamels' ration book, the baker jotted down something on it and handed it back, walking away to get the bread.

Hermione smile faded as soon as the man turned his back on her. Her heart was still beating too fast, her head was spinning slightly.

Had she ever been so upset about such trifles before? She couldn't recall ever feeling like this… It felt so irrational and overwhelming.

Hermione brought a hand over her heart and pressed firmly against it, breathing in and out, slowly.

Maybe she was blowing things out of proportion.

Maybe Tom would have understood that she hadn't told him about Archamps because after all, it had been a short business trip and nothing else…

Yes. She would have apologized and it would have worked out for the best.

He wouldn't have been too jealous of the Herbert matter, because she had already explained to him that there was no need to worry about that.

Besides, why did she care so much about Tom finding out about Herbert?

It would have been much better had Tom thought her involved with another man ... might have even helped restoring the right distance between them.

In fact, despite what she had believed or hoped for, the month in Paris had done little and nothing to rebalance the feelings she had begun to feel for Tom.

Sure, working full-time on the Time-Turners had distracted her from those unhealthy feelings.

In her first week in Paris, Hermione had even deluded herself she'd easily gotten over that silly crush, but then… well, she'd found out why they called it a distraction and not a solution.

Soon she had started having dreams, dreams as vivid as memories, dreams waking her up sweaty and flustered in the middle of the night, dreams that made her ashamed of herself and of what her mind was capable of producing despite the lack of references.

So who knew, maybe a good fight would have been a better solution ...?

Perhaps a nice quarrel would have worked the miracle.

The very thought of having to push Tom away instead of bringing him closer made Hermione's eyes sting with tears.

She felt like she had lost her way.

She had always been so sure of the clear difference between good and evil, right and wrong ... yet ever since she had stepped into the past, ever since Tom had fallen into her life ... she hadn't been sure of anything anymore.

Hermione thanked the baker and walked back to the street with the warm bread under her arm.

She took a big breath of the warm July air and then slowly exhaled.

Her head had started to ache and her fingers tingling.

There was no doubt, all hell would have broken loose upon her return to Hogsmeade, however, she told herself with little consolation, there was still a whole week before she'd have to go back ... so she still had plenty of time to think strategies and apologies...

In the meantime, she really needed to calm down, she couldn't unscramble the eggs, could she?

Someone used to say that all the time… was it her mom?

Hermione blinked several times in the late afternoon sun, which still flooded the street coloring it in all shades of red and orange.

She shrugged. Oh well. She would have figured it out.

She began to retrace her steps, making her way home and taking refuge in her worries about time-turners as a last resort to escape from that stubborn sense of guilt, which continued to haunt her guts despite her resolve to worry about Tom later on.

Hermione walked up the steps to the Flamels' house, she opened and walked through the front door, placed the piece of bread on the console table in the entrance hall, and took off her satchel to hang it on the coat rack in the corner.

She took a look in a mirror and smoothed her wild curls absentmindedly, then turned to retrieve the bread.

She was so engrossed in her own worries that it took her way too long to notice anything.

When she did notice though, her jaw dropped.

"What the hell?"

Hermione spun on her heels, her eyes wide in surprise, her mouth half-open.

The room she had entered was a neat entrance hall, with high ceilings and whitewashed walls.

There were no retouched whining paintings along the walls, but large golden frames hosting precious landscapes, sleeping busts of illustrious historical figures and majestic fantastic beasts.

Huge two-story windows overlooked the street, letting the red light of the approaching sunset through neat and transparent window panes.

There was no trace of the small communities of semi-stray cats that inhabited the corridors of the house, there were no notes pinned to the handrail of the huge staircase in front of her, the mirror was crystal clear and it hadn't cussed even once yet, and the floor was entirely book-free.

The entrance smelled clean and freshly painted.

The idea that she had entered the wrong house crossed her mind, but then again, how many other magical houses could there be in the neighborhood?

"... Herb? Nicolas? Perenelle?" Hermione called out, wincing slightly as her voice bounced across the wide rooms, echoing throughout the house.

Something was definitely fishy about the whole situation... Hermione drew her wand from her pocket and held it at her side as she called for the Flamels again, taking a few steps forward.

"Herb?"

"Hermione!" Perenelle's voice rang through the silence.

Hermione jumped and whirled towards the sound, only to see Perenelle running towards her.

With her sloppy clothes, covered in cat-fur and paint, and hair full of pieces of paper, Perenelle was completely out of tune with the current surrounding environment, as was Hermione to be fair, although the latter retained a slightly less deranged look in her knee length A-line Muggle dress.

"Hermione! Honey! We have a guest!" The woman said cheerfully, grabbing Hermione's wrist to then proceed to drag her in the direction she'd come from.

"Guest? What ... what happened to the house? Where are ... the cats? Where are the others?" Hermione asked in confusion, blinking rapidly and gaping as Perenelle dragged her from an impeccably tidy library to a richly decorated dining room.

"What the…?"

Perenelle stopped short in front of a door.

She turned slowly and leaned towards Hermione confidentially.

"We were all working when the house got reassembled. You should've seen it! Two minutes of raging chaos! It was incredible!"

"WHAT?!"

"Yes! It kicked us out of our labs and sealed them up. All the paperwork, the books, the formulas… even the time-turners, the sand ... all sealed." Hermione gasped, her wand hand raising to cover her mouth.

Before she could ask more, Perenelle smiled widely before adding, "We got scared, then ... well then someone knocked on the door ... you should have warned us, dear!".

"Warned about wh…"

But Perenelle had already opened the door and stepped into the next room, leaving Hermione no choice but to follow and find out what this was all about for herself. So she did.

She followed in and her bewilderment only increased as her eyes landed on the scene before her.

The room was a nice tea lounge, richly furnished with French-style antiques.

In one corner, near a window, Nicolas was awkwardly rearranging some teacups on a tray, his hands were stained with so many layers of ink that he kept leaving colorful prints on the fine china, despite the obvious attempts to do as little damage as possible.

Herbert instead, and that was when Hermione's brain pretty much shut down, was sitting in an armchair in the center of the room, across from a stiff, livid and impeccably dressed Tom Riddle, whose eyes had pierced Hermione from the moment the door had opened.

What was that thing she had been thinking? Something about having time to find a strategy?

"T… Tom?" She stammered, her heart sinking in the depths of her stomach.

Tom parted his lips but was brutally cut off.

"Chérie!" Thundered a cheerful and unaware Herbert, "You didn't tell us the boy would come!"

At the words 'chérie' and 'boy' the vein in Tom's temple throbbed visibly and Hermione saw his Adam's apple bob violently.

Her legs trembled under her weight and she felt herself blushing.

Heck, even in a situation like this, all she could think about was how gloriously handsome he was.

Could he have grown any more in the last month? Or was it just that she hadn't seen him in a while? Perhaps the obvious murderous fury swimming behind his quiet façade made him look bigger?

Something was really wrong with her head…

Thank God her brain started up again after only a few moments of silent ogling and savage panicking.

"Tom!? What are you… doing here!? How did you get… what happened?! Tom! You're here!"

In three quick strides Hermione was hugging him.

In fact, she had crashed into him so fast that Tom, who had just risen from his chair, staggered back slightly before finding his balance again.

Marseille soap, chocolate and mint, home, heat. God, he was tall.

The butterflies in Hermione's belly came to life in a raging riot, threatening to rip her in half for good. Then one by one, they dropped dead along with any hope that they wouldn't necessarily have to fight.

Hermione winced.

She had expected it, she had seen it coming, but it was ominous experiencing it nonetheless: Tom's arms didn't close around her in a hug, they remained rigid along his hips.

The heat emanating from him began to burn, turning into an almost physical barrier pushing against her.

Under Hermione's cheek, Tom's heart was beating to the rhythm of what could only be blind anger. His muscles felt tense and ready to snap.

His magical core was buzzing furiously, almost humming out loud.

"Oh! So, young Tom managed to surprise you too!" Nicolas chuckled, "Well done boy! We are so very glad you decided to pay us a visit! We were extremely curious to meet you! Hermione talks about you constantly!"

Hermione loosened the one-sided hug and took an awkward step back.

She had to get Tom out of there before he'd burst into flames.

Surprisingly, and somewhat frighteningly, when she looked up at him, she found that he was smiling warmly at Nicolas.

"Sir, I assure you, the feeling was entirely mutual. Hermione told me so many good things about you all ..." he took a short pause to stab her with a glare, "That I couldn't help myself from dropping by as soon as the chance presented itself! My apology! I should've warn of my arrival, perhaps I acted too impulsively."

"Don't worry, boy! Carpe diem, right? You did well! You did great! We needed a little break anyway! Tea?" Nicolas cheerfully walked to the table in the center of the room, followed by his floating tray of tea cups.

Hermione saw Tom's eyes linger on the inked edge of the china, he bit his lower lip.

Tea was clearly the least of his thoughts.

"Gentlemen, madam," he said, bowing gracefully to Perenelle, who in the meantime had pulled a large brush from her pocket and was looking languidly at the pristine painting of a hippogriff, looking back at her with sincere concern on its beastly features, "I hope you won't think me terribly rude, but I truly need to have a word with Hermione first, with your permission, of course. "

"Oh! What a polite boy!" Perenelle chirped, "And so handsome too!" She added with a wink, "Of course boy, you can have Hermione for as long as you want! Before you go, can I ask you a favor, Tom?"

"Anything for you, madam."

Hermione saw Herbert grin behind his cup of tea and pierced him with a sobering glare.

"Please, dear boy, if it's not too much to ask, do drop the formality! We're not used to it! I know we just met and this may sound a bit forward, but you are family to us! You and Hermione both. No need to be so formal with your family!"

Tom smiled at the woman and nodded, Perenelle smiled gleefully back at him.

Sweet, naïve Perenelle.

Hermione knew Tom well enough to know that none of Perenelle's affectionate words had affected him positively.

Formality was Tom's refined tool to keep others at the right distance, a distance he needed for more than one reason.

The only ones Tom had ever allowed access beyond his wards were Hermione and Aberforth and Hermione had the distinct feeling that it would continue to be that way for a while, despite the kindness of the Flamels. Bless their huge hearts.

"Off you go, you two are excused!" interjected Nicolas, "Tom, boy, come back later if you please! I'd love to have a chat with you or play a game or two!" He pointed to a shelf, where a large inlaid wooden chessboard lay open, supporting two small armies of carved and painted porcelain soldiers.

Hermione had already told Tom about that board.

Nicolas had built it himself and had bewitched each of the pieces so that the battles were now truly sensational events, both for those who played and for those who observed.

Hermione generally observed, as chess wasn't her strong suit, but she knew Tom to be very good when playing with his friends and she had a feeling that he would have loved that chessboard… had he been in the right mood, of course.

"With great pleasure, sir ... ehrm ... Nicolas." Tom muttered.

Tom gestured for Hermione to lead the way, and Hermione hesitated, fidgeting on the spot.

First of all, she was in no hurry to go and argue with him and in even less of a hurry to be alone with him, as she was still completely unprepared and her heart was basically about to squeeze out of her throat.

Secondly, she honestly had no idea where to lead him, since she too had never seen the house as it appeared now.

"Chérie?" Hermione cringed slightly and leaned over to peek at Herbert, "Think you can share your room, the one on firstfloorsecondontheleft, with Tom? We haven't had time to prepare one for him! Or should we fix him a room right now?"

Oh, thank Merlin, Herbert!

Hermione sighed in relief.

Upstairs second of the left.

"Erhm ... ok, sure Herb. I mean, we're used to share the room anyway, no need to bother, I think… I mean unless… Tom?"

Tom raised a brow at her confused stammering, then turned to face Herbert. It felt surreal to see them both in the same room.

"No need to bother with a second room, Herbert. We'll share. Thank you." Tom spat his thanks between clenched teeth and then motioned for the door with renewed purpose.

**Hermione had to make an effort not to jump at the sight of what was supposed to have been her room all along.**

This house was way more surprising and magically-charged than she had ever thought.

Her room was beautiful and undeniably… hers.

It was a cozy room, with light wooden floors, white walls and delicate antique furniture.

A nightstand she had never seen before, was covered with the books she had been reading until the night before. The large closet 'had been left' ajar, showing part of her clothes.

In the center of the room stood a huge four-poster bed that looked slightly slept-in; at its feet was Hermione's trunk, locked and devoid of the layer of dust and cat hair that had covered it until that very morning.

Along the walls were four large bookcases, neatly loaded with volumes of all kinds, along with a small desk, on which all Hermione's correspondence had magically materialized along with some of her personal effects.

The room even smelled like her.

This was a fascinating piece of magic right here.

However impressed by it though, at the moment Hermione's focus was on Tom, who stood stiffly near 'her' desk, looking anywhere but in her direction.

"Ok, I… I think I know why you're here…"

"No shit, Chérie." He snarled, still refusing to meet her eyes.

"Just, will you please listen to me first?"

Tom turned his back to her, walking towards one of the bookcases instead.

He ran his fingers over the volumes stacked there, apparently studying the titles with fascination.

When it became clear that he wasn't about to say anything, Hermione broke the silence.

"Tom, I know you've heard about Archamps, Eurus must have told you about it and I swear, it's not what it looks like!"

 _Oh! Nice cliché, you idiot!_ She wished she'd had more time to think about this…

Nothing. He kept his back to her, kept browsing through the books.

Hermione moved away from the door she had been leaning against and took a couple of steps towards him, guilt pulling her closer. She needed to feel Tom closer, make sure he wouldn't withdraw.

That need was just as stupid as it was visceral.

"We… went to Archamps to collect some study material for the Flamels, we only stayed a couple of days and... I would have told you! I didn't… I didn't think it'd be such a big deal!"

Still no response.

"I'm sorry... I realized how bad that would've sounded way too late…"

He pulled down one slim volume, leafed through the pages then put it back.

"Tom there was no need for you travel this far, you know? I would have told you all about it next week! If you were so worried, you could've sent a letter or…"

Finally, he turned to look at her.

His eyes hadn't been so cold since the morning she'd found him on that damned beach in Dorset. Hermione's stomach folded in on itself.

"Oh, I'm sorry! Is my presence inconvenient? Is it too bothersome to have to lie to my face rather than hiding behind your scrolls?"

"Don't be silly now! Of course I'm glad you're here! What I meant ..."

"Oh, glad? You're glad I'm here, are you?"

"Of… course I am, Tom!" Hermione took another step toward him and cringed when his eyes followed the movement and his upper lip twisted slightly in annoyance.

"Should've seen your face when you saw me downstairs… You looked many things, glad wasn't one of them..."

"Why… I was surprised! I didn't expect you'd travel this far for something so sill…"

"Silly, right?! I'm the silly one, Hermione, right? Do you even know what would have happened had someone other than Eurus Nott seen you in Archamps, travelling alone, with a man? Had any other student seen you? Someone with more gossip-inclined parents perhaps?"

"This is nonsense, you of all people, giving me the talk? I'm not a child, Tom, I don't need to…"

"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION."

"Don't raise your voice with me!"

He bit his lower lips and took a deep breath, apparently summoning every bit of his scarce patience.

"Answer me."

Hermione hesitated.

They stared at each other for a long moment before she spoke again.

"No, Tom, I don't know what you THINK would have happened! I'd like to speculate though, that anyone else would have figured out we were just two researchers retrieving research material!"

"Well then, fuck me, Hermione! 'Cause you're lying to yourself too!"

He laughed bitterly moving a few steps in her direction.

Suddenly, wanting to get closer to him didn't seem such a great idea anymore.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Means that had anyone else seen you wandering France with a man, alone, and without a fffucking ring on your finger, Hermione, sleeping ..." Tom's voice choked in his throat and he had to cough in order to continue, "sleeping in the same room," his face twisted into a grimace but he didn't give her time to correct him or deny those words, "Your reputation… your reputation would have been ruined. Then what about school? And us and…"

"Oh! Please, now you're being dramatic! Who gives a damn about my reputation!?"

"I DO!"

"Yeah, well how convenient! Worrying about my reputation only when you're not involved in the 'ruining it' part?! We're locked in a bedroom and this is still a pureblood household, ain't it? So when does the rule truly apply then?!" Shit she was giving in to his mood.

Hermione needed to be calm.

Be the calm one.

She begged herself mentally.

"HOW CAN YOU EVEN COMPARE THE TWO THINGS?!" He snapped, "What world you live in?! Do you think I'd ever EVER let anything happen to you! That I'd sully yours and my name?!"

"SULLY MY NAME? I'm not some pureblood daughter, Tom!"

"I'd never, I'd… never!" His chest rose and fell rapidly and his fists clenched to the rhythm of his anger.

"Come on, Tom, this is just another fight over Herbert and our trust issues, I get it, I GET IT, I do, Tom! I know I made a mistake! I should've told you, ok? I'm sorr…"

"I don't give a fuck about your apology! I'm sick of your shit! I'm sick of all of this! Why do you keep lying to me? Why do you keep hiding shit from me?! Why do I feel like we've had this conversation way too many times already!?"

"That's exactly why I wanted to apologize! I know how it looks but…"

"I don't want you to apologize, I want you to come clean once and for all! I want to…"

Tom's chest swelled and the vein in his neck throbbed, he moved forward, then froze on the spot, as if he had just violated some mental rule of his.

He took a deep breath and blinked a few times under her puzzled gaze.

"Are… you all right?"

"I… need to breathe."

"Tom…"

"Shut up. I'm about to fucking die or… explode… or both."

"Tom, just sit down… do you need to…"

"Just shut up. I'm… I'll be damned if I feel sick now. Too fucking mad to… feel sick. Shut up."

She did. She sealed her lips and waited.

It took him three full minutes before he could speak again.

Hermione felt like crying.

How had this escalated so fast?

"I don't care about your apologies," his voice faltered slightly, as if he were about to cry or had a lump in his throat, "But we're doing something about your lying, Hermione, we're doing something about it right now!"

"Fine! I know I fucked up, Tom! I'm not an idiot! I'm just saying, this thing is blowing out of proportion! It wasn't as bad as you're making it and…"

"NOT AS BAD?!" He yelled, "You fucking promised! YOU.."

Tom's hand snapped before his own brain could catch the movement, it was obvious in the way his own eyes widened in surprise when his fingers wrapped around Hermione's neck.

"Don't. You. Dare. Hit me. Tom. Riddle."

And now she knew why he had tried so hard to keep himself in check.

"Let. Go. Now."

He let go of her as if he'd burned himself and stepped back.

"I'm… sorry… I…" his lips moved around empty words.

Hermione realized she really had to calm down now.

Interacting like fire and gasoline wouldn't have lead anywhere anyway.

If he was making an effort not to explode, maybe she could avoid biting back at his every sentence and try to see things from his point of view too, even if his point of view was clearly altered by jealousy.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward trying to take his hand in hers. He pulled it back, she took it once more. Slowly, gently, she closed her fists around his index and pinky and waited silently until he took a breath and decided she could keep his hand for herself.

"Tom, let's… just breathe ok? What is it I can do? How can I fix this? Just…. Just tell me, ok? Let's stop… the fighting. I think we're both losing sight of the point here. I don't want this to escalate any more than this. Just, just how do we fix it? Can we?"

"No… no more lies. I'm… I'm so sick of feeling all of this… this mess. I just…" He looked so lost, drowning in the tide of his feelings, Hermione's heart clenched.

She nodded.

A thick silence settled in the room. For a while the only sound was that of Tom, catching up with his breath.

"I… do care about your reputation… but I… You're right. I rushed here 'cause I was fucking furious about that French arsehole downstairs." He said after a while, breathing heavily through the words, squeezing them out with the calmest tone he could manage, "I just can't stand his existence, not if I'm not around, not if… I don't know that you're… mine. Not if he sleeps in your room."

"Tom! I swear…"

"I came" He cut her off, "because, you won't stop lying to me and that just drives me nuts! And you know it! You fucking know, yet you can't help yourself, and I have no idea why. It's just us… it's just us. Me! Hermione, it's me! And I thought I proved I could take this kind of shit when we argued at the Inn last time… I thought… you'd stop keeping things from me then… thought you knew we could talk about... stuff! I just I don't get it. Why?"

"I know, I know, I get that! I'm sorry about that! I didn't mean to lie… it looks like I do it on purpose but… Tom you're…"

"Stop! Stop apologizing! You're doing that again! I don't need that!"

Hermione sobbed.

"I'm done with the lying, Hermione! I told you the truth, ok? I was honest. It wasn't all about the reputation thing, ok? You were right. Now… Now… I told the truth."

She nodded stupidly.

"It's time you do too."

She shook her head no.

"I don't know what to say, Tom. I don't know, what is it you think I lied about? I told you about Archamps and…"

Oh, there were so many things she was lying about, so many lies she had lost count of them over the years.

There was so much he didn't know, so much he couldn't know, ever.

A fit of sobs shook her and she unconsciously moved closer to him, looking for some kind of shelter.

Tom sighed.

"Did something happen with him?"

"Oh. Not this again, Tom! I'm not…"

"Did it?"

"Tom."

"ANSWER ME." He took a deep breath under her glare, "Please, please, I won't raise my voice, I won't. Just answer."

No more lies. Those words boomed in her head and she didn't even give herself time to consider a strategy before blurting out the answer. So long for using Herbert for distance...

"No, nothing happened, Tom."

"Why haven't you told me? About the trip, Hermione… I mean… you told me about Paris, why not Archamps?"

"I… I didn't think it would be such…"

"Hermione, stop fucking lying or I'll tear the whole house down, I swear."

"I didn't… want you to be… mad at me again, Tom! I had to go, I knew it would be just Herbert and me and I… THIS! I didn't want this to happen again! Didn't want to fight for such nonsense! I fucked up! It wasn't such a big deal to me so I just went! I didn't think… I…" Treacherous tears filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks, "I didn't mean to make such a mess, didn't mean to hurt you, I swear! It just didn't occur to me that you'd take it this bad! I should've… just…"

What the hell was wrong with her? Why was she hysterical? Why was she even crying? What was she, twelve or something?! Yet she just couldn't help herself.

Tom stared at her for a long silent moment, then he seemed to shake out of some kind of daze.

He cupped her cheeks in his hands with a kind of urgency, tilting her head back slightly, so as to level their gazes.

"Hey! Look at me! Don't cry, love. We're done, ok? We don't lie anymore. I'm not… we're not fighting, ok? Just talking. Ok?"

Hermione sobbed and nodded, as far as his grip on her face allowed her.

"There's one more thing, love, one more and we're done." His gaze pierced through hers with renewed intensity, Hermione stared back, perhaps partially aware of what he would ask, "What am I to you, Hermione?"

What am I.

That wasn't the first time he asked.

It was the first time she didn't know the answer to the question though.

She hadn't prepared for this. She hadn't thought of what to say.

Hermione shook her head no, and Tom sobbed softly, his lips mouthing a silent 'please'.

What am I? She didn't know…

No. It wasn't that she didn't know, she just didn't want to admit it.

Saying it out loud… that would have been catastrophic and Hermione knew.

Damn, deep down, he had to know too!

"Tom, please."

"What am I, Hermione?"

"Tom don't…"

"No. We're done with the lying, love. This, this is how you fix this. You stop lying, to me AND to yourself."

"Tom, we can't! Can't you see how wrong..?"

"I've seen how you look at me, I felt the change, I've seen it in you. I'm not mental, I'm not stupid. Perhaps a bit young, I'll give you that…" he almost laughed, but it lasted so little she could've dreamed it.

"Tom, please, just drop it! I won't lie, we'll talk more, I swear, just drop this though. I need… time…"

"Time? Damn it, Hermione, I really wanted to just wait, to let you get there on your own… but… you're so… You're overthinking this! It is so simple yet you're making this so complicated! And it just makes me… makes me feel like I'm walking on the edge of a cliff. Constantly ... I am ... unstable, I cannot think straight, I overreact…"

"I sorr…"

"No. I told you, I don't need apologies, I need you to stop lying. You told me the truth about Frenchie, I believe that… I still hate the fucker but I'm going to ignore that. We cleared the Archamps ordeal, mostly… What am I to you?" he breathed out the last few words, and Hermione felt new tears stinging her eyes.

"Family… you are… just a boy, Tom… I… wrong… this…"

"God, you are so fucking stubborn! What do you want me to do? BEG YOU?"

"I… Tom… I don't know, ok!? I don't know, anymore… How can I just… this is wrong! I'm sorry, this is… my fault… I shouldn't have never… oh, god, I made such a mess… you don't even know how big of a mess! This is so wrong!"

He wriggled his hand out of hers and brought it up, slowly this time.

So slow, Hermione could've moved away and refuse his touch had she wanted to.

However, she let it come to her, she let it against her cheek and down her neck.

He brushed against it delicately this time.

"I'm sorry. If I scared you, I'm sorry. It's just… this anger I can't… handle it and when… It blends with the mess in my head and I… I see red. I'm trying ok? I'm trying to be calm and… lucid… I swear. I would never… never hurt you."

"I know, Tom."

She closed her eyes for a moment when his hand moved to cradle the nape of her neck.

Tom came closer, waking into the heat between them, pressing his forehead against hers.

He took a deep breath.

"This is not wrong." He whispered, his free hand caught one of hers and pressed it against his chest, "This is not wrong, love. This is the only right thing that ever happened to me."

"We can still… go back, Tom. We can go home. But you have to drop this…" Hermione sobbed and shivered, hear hand fisting the fabric of his shirt right above his frantic heartbeat, "We can… be happy all the same! Together, forever all the same. Anything else… it's just too complicated and…"

"How can you… how can you say that? You feel it too! God, this is frustrating!" He pressed harder against her forehead, "You want this just as much as I do. I don't want to go back to what we were… I've been waiting all my life to move on from that! How can you… please, just say it. Say you feel this too. It's not complicated at all… I'll make it so easy, so fucking easy, just tell me."

"Tom, you… I…"

"Do you feel something else? And if you don't I won't ask again, I swear. I'll be anything you need me to… or… or I'll try… Just don't lie."

Hermione sighed and hiccupped, she looked away, then back into his eyes.

There were so many lies already, would another one really hurt that much?

Would saying "No" really be the worst lie she ever told?

There were darker things she was keeping from him. This should have been a walk in the park in comparison.

She just needed to say no once and for all.

He wouldn't have known immediately, but it would have been so much healthier for him too.

No, I don't feel anything special.

I love you because you are my brilliant little man, my student, my family, my responsibility ... that's all.

You fantasized too much, Tom. You fantasized too much and I was wrong to indulge your fantasies.

We are family.

Hermione wiped away her tears.

His eyes were desperately looking for a sign on her face, when her lips parted his pupils sunk in the depths of his irises and she heard him holding his breath.

No. I don't feel anything. Nothing out of the ordinary. I just…

"Of course I do, Tom. I wouldn't be such a mess if I didn't feel something else."

His heart thumped wildly under her touch, Hermione gasped softly and pressed harder against it, unclenching her fingers to lay her palm flat against his hectic heart rate.

"Tom, are you…"

"You are mine." He exhaled against her forehead.

"Wait, Tom, we can't rush this I… this is… and then what about…"

"You are mine." He repeated, this time firmly, stabbing her with the intensity of his leaden gaze, "Your reputation, is mine to protect just as it will be mine to ruin. You. Are. Mine. That clear? This is right. Look at me, look at ME." He tilted her head up, letting his other one slide in the small of her back, "This is right. I can feel it in my bones. I've always known."

"You don't get it… Tom. I… can't…"

But he stole the rest of her doubts leaning in and sealing her lips with his.

Hermione's hands shot to his shoulders as his mouth opened to tug at her lower lip, sucking it in one, two times as something wild ignited into her stomach with each tug.

Her head spun with the wrongness of how right that felt, her breath shattered, and she kissed him back without thinking to, her palms still pressed against his shoulders.

The kiss was excruciatingly slow for just an extra second, the extra second she could have pulled back and maybe make things right again.

But she didn't, and just like that, the second was gone.

Her palms slid at the push of his tongue, they moved over his shoulders, fisting at his clothes, pulling him in as she pushed herself forward, pressing her upper body against his.

Tom tasted like chocolate and mint and spit, and her heart was hammering in her ears.

He made a small noise in her mouth and the hand, still cradling the back of her neck, tightened the grip on her curls, moving her head against his to allow himself better access.

Hermione's emotions chased away any drop of reason and her blood felt like scorching lava in her veins.

She thought she was going to pass out, and she wondered stupidly, if he'd be able to tell how dry her mouth was at the moment.

In fact, Tom seemed the only source of moisture in that situation, if she had to be honest, also the only reason she was still breathing. He kissed her desperately, sloppily, sucking the air from her lungs and pumping it back with breathy wet little noises.

Their kiss became heat, solid heat, feverish, and mind numbing heat.

They stumbled two steps backwards in the heat of that electrical contact, on the third step Hermione's back crashed into the wooden door and her left leg automatically lifted up against his right, just as his hand spontaneously left her back to hold her thigh instead.

Hermione would have blushed later, realizing that although it was her back the one to hit the door, it was Tom the one to break the kiss.

They looked at each other.

His eyes dark and his lips swollen. His cheeks and neck were just as flushed ad Hermione imagined hers to be.

Hermione's hands came off his shoulders down to his chest, still heaving at a frantic rhythm.

"Are you… hurt?" He asked, releasing a shuddering breath.

Hermione shook her head.

Her mind was completely numb. She couldn't even panic yet. She just stared at him.

So brutally handsome.

She felt her cheeks get even warmer and forced her eyes away from his lips and back into his eyes.

"Good… good." He muttered.

Tom let go of her leg and pulled her in a hug, letting some of his weight on her, some on the wooden door behind her, "I'm… sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Tom."

"You are mine."

"Tom… what… how can this…? I mean…"

"We'll make it work. It's ok. We have time. I just… Enough of the lies."

"What are we going to do now?" Her voice came out so faint that she thought he wouldn't hear it, which wouldn't have been a problem, as Hermione was asking herself more than him anyway.

However, after another couple of deep breaths Tom replied, his face hidden somewhere in her curls.

"Now… now I need to sit… because I'm quite positive I'm about to faint… but then… then we can go back downstairs… and I can teach the ancient man how to play chess… how does that sound? One step at the time."

"Like… faint faint? Or just… like figure-of-speech-faint? Tom? TOM!"

 **Hermione walked briskly down the stairs and catapulted into a large library,** one of the few that could still be accessed since Tom had arrived at the Flamels and the house had sealed all of its secrets.

"Nicolas!"

Nicolas startled, nearly dropping the book he held in his hands.

"Hermione, dear! Good morning!"

"Have you seen Tom?"

"Tom? No ... I don't think so... not today anyway."

"I can't find him anywhere..." she mumbled halfway into the next room, a French-style living room with large French windows opening onto the strip of garden that ran around the building.

When Hermione appeared, Perenelle unfolded from the sofa she had been crumpled up on, scribbling on a large sketchbook, and yawned a very catlike yawn.

"Hermione!"

"Perenelle, have you seen ...?"

"Look! I'm jotting down a draft ... don't you think the portrait of that distinguished gentleman in the hall could use some company?"

"Distinguished gentle... isn't that a portrait of Merlin himself?"

"Oh! You know what? You might be right!"

Hermione suppressed a chuckle.

"Have you seen Tom? I can't find him! There's a huge eagle-owl up in the bedroom and it won't let me get its envelope, I think it's something from one of his friends… the bird surely looks like something a Malfoy would use…"

"Tom?"

"Yes, Perenelle, Tom!"

"He was with Herbert in the garden."

"Ah! Finally! Thanks ... what?"

Both Perenelle and Hermione jumped when Herbert's voice broke in from the garden.

"Come on! Get up boy! Is that all you got?"

"Leave me alone! I'm dying!"

"Stand up!"

"See? I told you they were in the garden!" Perenelle said cheerfully, before hopping off towards the poor portrait of Merlin in the hall.

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat and she rushed to the window, throwing it open with such violence that the glass trembled threateningly.

A gasp escaped her lips as she found the figure of Tom lying in the grass right under the window sill.

The noise caught his eye and despite the momentary concern, Hermione's stomach took a hit as those pools of loose diamonds found her and his pupils dilated.

"Herm ..."

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO HIM?" Hermione threw one leg over the sill, using the palm of one hand to hoist herself up and out of the window, her wand already pointed at Herbert, whom she had spotted standing a little further away from Tom.

"No, Hermio ..."

"Chérie! Are you pointing a wand at me? Really?" Scoffed Herbert.

Hermione glared.

"What's he doing on the ground? What have you done to him?"

"Chérie, I didn't do anything to him, I swear!" Herbert raised both hands in surrender and burst out laughing.

Hermione looked at him with dismay, even more dismayed, she turned to look down again, where Tom, still lying in the grass below her, had burst out laughing too, albeit more laboriously, as if he were catching his breath.

Hermione lowered her wand and her gaze bounced from Tom to Herbert once more.

"What the hell are you two up to?"

"Oh, chérie! You are very protective of this young man, I'm impressed!"

Hermione blushed violently and refused to look in the direction of what she knew would be a grin on Tom's face, much preferring Herbert's amused look instead.

"We were just training!"

"Training?"

"Sit-ups ... pull-ups ... Frenchie here ... he was showing me how to do it ..." Tom said.

"Sit-ups ... Herbert was ... showing ... YOU?"

Finally she looked down again, Tom was blushing, sitting in the grass.

"He's training... you?"

Tom shrugged and looked away "He says it's good ... for the body ... or something ..."

"Of course it's good for the body, for the mind too! Let me show him a couple more exercises, and this young man will be all muscle in a heartbeat!"

Hermione had to press her lips together to keep from laughing, which would have been very dangerous considering the blush had spread to Tom's neck now.

Tom Riddle doing push-ups with Herbert Flamel in the garden ... this was one of those times she wished she had a camera.

"Ok ... well ... ok, I guess ... Tom ... there's a ... Malfoy owl in the room ... can you take a break by any chance?"

"Are you laughing at me, by any chance?" He asked as he stood up and patted himself on the legs, to remove dirt and grass.

"Me? Absolutely ... no ... why should I?"

"Oh, I don't know ... but I've heard terrible things happen to those who laugh at Tom Riddle..."

Hermione gasped and started running when, with one lightning motion, Tom placed both palms on the windowsill and pulled himself up and into the house again.

The chase was brief, he had her before she could cross the threshold of the door.

Hermione's breath bounced in her throat, choked by a fit of giggle, Tom's hands yanked her back and she found herself pressed between a grinning Tom and the wall.

He smelled like grass, fresh air and sweat.

"You ARE laughing! Witch!"

"Oh well! You caught me!"

"Nobody laughs at Tom Riddle! You will regret it!"

"Just the fact that you keep referring to yourself in the third person ..." another fit of laughter hit her hard.

"Did you just point your wand at Frenchie to defend me?" Tom purred.

Hermione wiped away a tear of amusement and shrugged but before she could say anything, Herbert's voice came from somewhere under the window.

"Come back boy, we're not done!"

Tom peered over his shoulder, then looked back at Hermione, pressing slightly closer and against her.

He breathed out hard, his warm breath caressing her lips. Hermione's heart began to beat more violently, slamming against her rib cage, sending more blood to her cheeks.

For a moment, it seemed like he was about to kiss her and the very thought shuttered her breath and caused her eyes to seek his for confirmation of purpose.

"Tom! You said not in public ..."

His lips came even closer, almost touching hers, Hermione contemplated pushing him away from her but then, weakly, she closed her eyes, her heart now a rhythm of solid thuds in her ears.

Nothing. Nothing happened at all.

Her eyes snapped open on Tom's grinning face.

"Oh right, I said that!" He laughed smugly, stepping back and abruptly leaving her.

Hermione swayed slightly before regaining her balance on her suddenly weak legs and his eyebrow rose in an amused smug against her glare.

Git.

"Boy, are you coming or not?"

"I'm coming!" Tom yelled over his shoulder, "There's a special treat for Malfoy's owl in the wooden box in my trunk, it'll let you get the letter with that."

"Owl? Ah ... right."

Damn git.

Tom nodded once and began walking away, just to turn around one last time, his hands already on the window ledge from which he had climbed in, his curls followed his movement and fell over his left eye.

His red lips uncovered a row of white teeth, his tongue peeped out to caress his slightly pointed canines. Hermione had to hold back a sigh.

"Hermione, love of mine?"

"What's up?" Hermione asked in a strange falsetto voice, "Ehrm ... yeah?"

"The next one ... you'll be the one asking for it. Just so you know."

"Next? Oh." Hermione coughed and looked around "Well, even better!" She spat," It will be in a couple of years then! "

Tom's grin widened slightly, "Yes? Fine by me! We'll see if it is for you ... Nobody laughs at Tom Riddle!" and with that he disappeared, leapfrogging over the windowsill and into the garden, like a cat.

Smug git.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guess they still have some DTR'ing to do, but we're going somewhere now!  
> Let me know what you think!  
> Stay safe and healthy!  
> Until next time, M.


	11. He needs us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I'm sorry, it took me a while longer to update! In my defense, it has been quite a messy week! Hopefully, it won't take as long for the next chapter!  
> Again and always, thank you so much for all of your support and your feedback!  
> Oh, someone suggested using *** symbol, I added it to the use of bold text to highlight the change of scenary. Hope that'll help.  
> Chapter 11 is not too dense plot-wise, except for... well you'll see!  
> I'd like to send out special thanks to NiniJune, thank you for widening my world and for being such a kind human being!  
> Well, without further ado,  
> hope you'll enjoy and let me know what you think!  
> Love, M.

**Chapter 11: He needs us**

**"Tom?"**

Hermione's voice cut into his blissful slumber for the third time in what seemed to have been seconds.

Tom mentally scolded himself for the involuntary movement of his eyebrows, drawing close in a slightly annoyed frown before he could stop them.

As anticipated, the twitch didn’t go unnoticed and her voice picked up volume and purpose.

"Tom, you said five minutes, it's been half an hour, wake up."

Tom stretched his arms downwards, trapping his wrists between his thighs and snuggling closer to her side.

He moaned low in his throat, pleased at the warmth he found there.

A small indignant sigh was the last thing he heard before his mind drifted merrily into oblivion again.

“Tom…” She pushed at his shoulder, “The later it gets, the more crowded Madam Malkin's will be. We’ll end up having to wait in line! I hate waiting in line… for clothes!" she added, probably remembering all the times they had stood in line at the bookstore without her minding one bit.

Tom grunted at the stream of words, indifferent to their meaning.

"And what was it Abe needed? He said something about a garden tool ... or a pesticide maybe? Tom? Oh, forget it! I’ll have to ask him again and write it down before we leave. Perhaps he should make a list for once, instead of just… Tom… I know you can hear me."

"Mhpf..." Of course he could hear her, he’d have had to be dead not to hear her, since her voice was getting more petulant by the minute… he could hear her all too well.

“Your eye is doing that twitchy thing...”

Tom frowned, wishing the power of his glare could stab her through his closed lids all the same.

“It’s called a warning...” He mumbled.

“Tom! It’s getting late! I need a new set of robes too, it’ll take forever! Weren't you supposed to meet Abraxas and Eurus? What about your books?”

Frankly, he couldn’t care less right now.

Tom nodded, hoping that would shut her up.

“We’ll end up having to run from one shop to the next and…”

Tom focused hard on tuning Hermione's voice out of his world, determined to get back to sleep before he'd be irreversibly awake and irrevocably grumpy.

All he managed was turning her blabbering into a lulling sound ... still better than nothing, he thought.

“yadayadayada…” Yeah.

He could swing right back into Morpheus sweet embrace with that.

Tom’s lips curved in a satisfied smile and his arms and brows relaxed.

Bliss.

"TOM!" The voice pierced his eardrums while something sharp stabbed him in the ribs.

Tom growled and grabbed the murderous finger poking at his side.

“Woman, you’re killing me!” he whined, still refusing to open his eyes.

He squeezed the offending pointy appendage, still determined to poke a hole in between his ribs, and held tight on it as it tried wriggling out of his grasp.

"Tom, you promised you’d wake up early!"

A long sigh escaped his lips and he snuggled closer.

"Tom!" Hermione pulled her finger free and used her hand to shove him away.

"You know what? I take it all back, let's just break up.” he hissed through clenched teeth, rolling on his back and rubbing his face with both palms.

Hermione gasped and slapped him on the head for good measure.

"Ouch! Add mauling to the list of things I hate in the morning!"

"God, you’re dramatic! Perhaps we should indeed break up."

“Would I be able to sleep then?”

“Nope.”

Tom slapped himself in the face and growled.

She kicked the sheets off of them both, clearly resolved to bring the awakening to the next level.

“So!”

“Mh…”

“I wouldn’t want to bother Your Majesty with showering when the planets aren’t yet perfectly aligned… Why don’t you just go downstairs while I take a quic… ARE YOU SERIOUSLY SNORING?!”

“Wha…? Oh… bugger off, can’t you go on your own?”

“It’s your school supplies! So no, I can’t go on my own, Tom!” The springs in the mattress bounced off Tom’s cheek as Hermione sat up abruptly.

"Five more minutes." Tom's hand blindly felt the surrounding space and managed to capture one of hers before she could retrieve it.

He drove the captive hand to his head and released it.

She refused to move it, stubbornly holding it still and making it deliberately heavier just to spite him.

“Tom…”

“Just pet me a bit, will you?!” Tom snorted.

“No. It’s late.”

Tom grimaced and grabbed her wrist this time, trying to maneuver her limp hand in slow circles, hoping to kick off a bit of morning cuddles.

No such luck.

Hermione kept her fingers stiff and impassive and Tom's maneuvering only caused a couple of his curls to get painfully entangled.

"Mmm ... you're irritating." He mumbled.

"Wake. Up."

“I liked it much better when you just stared at me in awe, willing me awake with the power of your love… feels like the honeymoon phase didn’t last much…”

She chuckled.

It was a short, lively sound and it made Tom think of a handful of diamonds bouncing off a stairway. His mouth curved into a smile on its own accord.

“You were staring at me last night.”

“I was just wondering how much bigger your head could get.” She huffed.

He could tell she was smiling without having to look.

“More like marveling at the sight of such a handsome devil… what a lucky witch you are.”

"I'd be more inclined to agree with you if you were less of a braggart and a little more energetic in the morning ..."

"You could wake me up with a kiss for a change, you know? That’d help…"

She snorted and finally her fingers wrapped around one of his curls and she started playing with it.

Tom's smile widened as he imagined her blushing fiercely in the silence.

Since Paris Hermione still hadn't had the guts to ask for another kiss and Tom had refused to make the first move and save her from the embarrassment of having to take that little step towards him.

He had a feeling it was a small but necessary 'obstacle', one that Hermione would have to overcome on her own.

Besides, it didn't seem like he’d have to wait much longer, if the delightful way she had begun to fidget and blush in his presence was any indication...

“Well… you've had your cuddles, will you get up?”

“Fine! But I’ll be insufferable, just so you know...”

“Big deal! You’re insufferable most of the time anyway.”

“That’s because you’re annoying most of the time.”

“It’s part of my charm.”

“Who said you had charm? Perhaps I just have a horrible taste when it comes to witches…”

“The plural it’s nice. It’s almost as if you think many other witches would put up with your lazy arse…”

“I’ll have you know that witches AND wizards both, would kill for my lazy arse. You’re lucky I’m a one-witch kinda guy… and with a horrible taste.”

“You’re lucky I left my wand downstairs last night… Tom, I’m not leaving you in bed, you’ll fall asleep the second I lock myself in the bathroom… just open your eyes and get up!”

“Then don’t lock yourself in… in fact, leave the door open. You’d be surprised how fast I can be persuaded to… Aw! Hag!” Hermione released the curly lock she had pulled as his eyes finally snapped open.

"Serves you right." She grinned, “Good morning.”

Tom blinked rapidly, frowning against the morning light.

Hermione was sitting next to him, one leg tucked under her butt and the other dangling off the bed.

Tom’s eyes lingered on her cheeks, gloating at how red they had turned already. He offered the smuggest smile his drowsiness allowed and reveled inwardly when Hermione blushed six shades darker and diverted her gaze.

“So, what will it be, breakfast or shower?” she stammered.

“What’s for breakfast?” he half-asked half-yawned as Hermione pushed herself on her feet, leaving him some room to stretch his legs and arms.

Tom's sleep-numb brain briefly wondered how had the bed shrunk so much over the years.

A satisfied smirk curved his lips seconds later, when his feet, sticking past the edge of the bed as he stretched, gave him the answer.

“Finnan haddie for the slowcoaches…”

Tom glowered.

Hermione chuckled.

“You eat that crap... I need something sweet...” he said, putting emphasis on the ‘need’, “Since you don't seem willing to provide any sweetness yourself, you cold-hearted witch!”

“Aw! I’m sure Abe will be happy to bake any sickening sweet nonsense you’ll ask for, you spoiled brat. Just go already!”

“I want cake…”

“Are you ever getting out of bed, Tom?! Come on! I want to get back in time to drop at Bert’s and help him with the inventory. I think I found an interesting spell that could help him with the…”

Tom sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, grimacing slightly when his feet collided with the cold floor.

He looked up at Hermione, a snarky comment on the fact that he couldn’t care less about Bert and his inventory, right on the tip of his tongue.

But his gaze never reached far beyond her arms, crossed under her chest.

Tom's jaw slackened, the world went out of focus and Hermione's voice became a distant sound, as his eyes got hopelessly entangled in the perky silhouette of her nipples, pressing under the thin fabric of her pajamas, calling him, taunting him with their stiffness.

His witty remark turned into a strange, inarticulate and quite ridiculous guttural sound that managed to make it halfway out of his pharynx before he could clamp his lips together and force his gaze on the floor.

His cheeks flushed red, his stomach dropped.

Tom cringed when he felt every drop of blood in his brain make a quick downward spiral to his southernmost regions.

Nonononono!

Quickly, he fished for the sheet Hermione had kicked away moments prior and pulled it over himself, dropping back on the bed and turning his back on her.

“TOM!” She basically roared, “You must be joking! Get up, you lazy arse!”

“I will! I swear! Just… one minute!”

Her hands clawed at the sheets and she pulled, gasping with outrage when Tom pulled back with purpose, forcing her to bend backwards not to fall on the bed herself.

“What… the… hell… Tom! Get… up!” She tugged fiercely but the odds were against her, as Tom’s back was trapping most of the sheet under his weight.

“Just get in the shower, I’ll get up!” He squealed.

“Not until you’re awake!”

“OH BELIEVE ME, I’m MORE than awake!”

The tugging stopped altogether.

“Are you… you mean…?”

"Please... go... I’m… it shows…"

"Oh?”

“Your… pajamas are very thin, luv… too thin.”

Tom squeezed his eyes shut waiting for the message to sink. It took her a couple of seconds more.

“OH!"

He felt her hands withdraw, probably to go cover her chest instead.

Not that she had a reason to, since he was still facing away and had no intention to turn back anytime soon. Not that he didn’t like the view, he just wasn't masochistic enough to want to take a second glance knowing he didn't have permission to do anything other than look from afar… yet.

Tom snorted and palmed his pants roughly, in a desperate attempt to discourage his stubbornly growing stiffness.

“I just… I… should… just go… Oh, Tom, this is it! This is the umpteenth proof I was right!”

He pressed his lips in a tight line and rolled his eyes, sensing he was about to lose a battle they’d been fighting since they had gotten back home.

“I told you we needed separate rooms! But NO! You think you have this all figured it out and… and you… well you don’t! First you walking in on me…”

“Oh come on, it only happened a couple of times!”

“FIVE!”

“You weren’t completely naked!”

“Well, thank God I wasn’t!”

“And I’ve learned to knock, haven’t I?” He growled, a lesson he would have had a hard time forgetting, as the imprint of her five fingers was still faintly visible on his cheek, “I’m sure we can figure this out as well!”

“This is just… no! We need separate rooms, this is final! I’m talking to Abe today! We’ll pay him for one of the spare rooms.”

“We don’t need separate rooms, we’re hardly ever home, and we’ll be separate enough back at school! Perhaps we just need for you to loosen up your rules about…”

“SEPARATE ROOMS!” She yelled louder, the quick heavy sound of her footfalls suggesting she was retreating towards the bathroom.

“Fine! Don’t come crying when you can’t sleep!”

There was a sharp thud and whatever remark she was about to yell back at him, turned into a growl when she slammed her little toe against the dresser.

Tom winced at the sound of a ridiculous amount of Chocolate frogs dropping on the floor, followed by the infernal croaking chorus of the once that had freed themselves from their wraps in the fall.

“Shite!”

“Are you…?”

“I’M FINE! SEPRATE. ROOMS. THIS. IS. FINAL.”

Tom glanced back over his shoulder just in time to get a glimpse of Hermione’s back as she limped the last couple of steps and slammed the bathroom door shut.

He glared at the chocolate treats bouncing around the room.

“Fuck.”

One of their biggest points of disagreement in defining the details of their new relationship (as far as alternating romantic hand-in-hand walks with days of silent murderous glares until Hermione had more or less admitted theirs was a relationship in the first place, could be considered 'defining the details of one's relationship') had been their living arrangements.

They had been fighting over the subject for days, Hermione arguing that sleeping in separate rooms at home would have helped balance their intimacy and their relationship, or something like that, Tom arguing that she was making a fuss just because she was afraid of a more physical relationship, which by the way he had neither requested nor expected ... just yet.

He'd turned conveniently deaf when she'd asked if he wasn't just scared of changing their routines, deaf and dumb, when she'd accused him of not even wanting to try, out of pure stubbornness.

In the end Hermione had waved the white flag, if only for her own mental health, since a Tom playing contrary Mary was a Tom she could never win against and she knew.

However, Tom had barely had time to gloat about winning their argument.

Their living together, which until then had been the most natural thing in the world, had turned into something else, something awkward, unknown and surprisingly full of pitfalls, and it killed him to admit it, but there was a fat chance Hermione had been more far-sighted than him.

Living together as a couple, especially in that early stage of their new relationship, had turned out to be a little too much even for Tom.

He sighed and rolled on his back.

Perhaps moving to another room wasn’t such a bad idea. He wondered how hard his 5 years old self would have scowled at him for just thinking about it.

Tom scowled at the ceiling when he heard Hermione double-lock the bathroom door.

“You’re overreacting, by the way! It’s not like I would…”

“I can’t hear you over those frigging frogs!” The sound of the shower filled the room seconds later.

Tom mindlessly slipped a hand in his trousers, adjusting the uncomfortable erection, still sticking at an odd angle against the fabric of his pants.

Well… perhaps he could at least take care of himself since…

“AND GET UP, YOU GIT, IT’S LATE!”

“I AM UP, YOU BINT!” He lied, glowering at the locked door.

The lock clicked loudly as she quickly turned the key back twice, unlocking the door and slamming it open at once.

“Shit!”

A euphoric laugh bubbled up Tom’s throat as he started and jumped off the bed, scrambling to his feet and tripping in two, three chocolate frogs, in his mad run towards the corridor, leaving a trail of destruction behind.

“Good! Run, you coward!” Her laugh filled the corridor.

“I’m no coward, you rogue! It's my morning jog! Didn't you want me to be more active?”

*******

**“So, are we all supposed to pretend we’re not curious? Or are you going to tell us whether you managed to win Mrs. Granger over during the summer or not?”**

Abraxas's spoon slipped between his fingers, falling to the ground in a furious tinkle despite the boy's various attempts to catch it on the fly.

A pretty, blonde witch appeared next to him not a second later, a flirty smile on her lips, a clean spoon between her fingers.

Abraxas took the spoon with a small smirk that inadvertently attracted the attention of three more girls, now leaning over their own table to offer him random pieces of their own tableware.

Druella brushed them all away with a bored wave of her hand and a murderous glare, before returning her focus on Tom's face, as if her life depended on his answer to that question.

Cygnus, sitting next to Rosier, grinned slowly, his dark, playful gaze traveling from Tom to the unsuspecting figure of Hermione, chatting cheerfully with Professor Slughorn across the curb of the ice cream parlor they were sitting at.

"Except you’re the only one pretending, Wally." muttered Nott, playing with the melted ice-cream in his cup.

Walburga narrowed her eyes at the tall boy and grimaced.

“The only reason you’re not curious is that he’s already told you all about it, and may I say, what a bummer this male coalition of yours! We need more female friends, Rosier ... perhaps we should befriend Mrs. Granger ...”

That definitely tore Tom’s attention from his ice-cream and gained Walburga a scorching glare.

“As if she would befriend a student…” Muttered Abraxas.

“Well she wasn’t supposed to date one either, was she?” Walburga smiled slily, “Oh, Merlin, I’m joking Riddle, no need to crucio me with your sexy glare!”

“But feel free to crucio me with whatever you please anytime, Riddle.” Cygnus winked, Orion emerged from the large book he had been reading just to scowl briefly at his cousin.

“May I remind you to keep your voice down? You’re still talking about a teacher!”

"Oh, relax Malfoy, nobody is eavesdropping!” said Cygnus, glancing around warily anyway. He smiled shrewdly when he caught the eye of one of the girls at the next table.

“So you really managed to sweep her off her feet in the end..." Insisted Walburga, sinfully rolling a spoonful of ice cream around her tongue and savoring it slowly, "Well... my apologies for thinking you were a conceited flake, I guess."

Tom raised an eyebrow.

“Apologies accepted, though, to be fair, I have neither confirmed nor denied your silly claims, you're just assuming things by yourself.” He shrugged, then, as soon as the dark-haired girl parted her lips for her next retort, Tom leaned forward and swiftly swapped his empty bowl of ice cream with hers.

“Well! Excuse you!?”

"Serves you right, you busybody hag, plus you shouldn't have picked chocolate if you meant to eat it all by yourself." He offered, laughing at the girl’s outraged expression.

“Who picks chocolate flavored anything when sitting at the same table with Riddle?” Laughed Abraxas.

“Tell me about it…” snorted Nott, glancing meaningfully at his empty bowl of strawberry ice cream, Tom’s least favorite flavor.

"Whatever!” snapped Walburga, “You don’t really need to confirm nor deny anything… it’s written all over your face, plus… I only really need to look at Abraxas to know for sure..."

"What have I done!?" whined the blonde, cringing at the chorus of giggles erupting from the next table following his question.

"You needn’t do anything, Axe, you are transparent. Sometimes I wonder how come you didn't end up in Ravenclaw or Gr..."

" Uh! Poisonous, Wally! Watch your mouth!" Abraxas laughed, grabbing his ice-cream sundae and clutching it to his chest before Walburga could steal it for herself.

“HA! You stained your shirt!” She mocked pointing at the smudge on the fabric.

“Fuck!” The chorus of giggles that followed Abraxas’ loud cuss deafened them all.

"Mh, I don't know Wally, I'm not that sure Riddle managed to seduce his princess..."

"And what makes you say that, Cygnus?" asked Rosier, a hopeful note in her voice that had the Black siblings' roll their eyes and Tom’s lips curl in a grin around his spoon.

"Well! I would argue that Riddle came back from his holidays a little too jacked..." said the dark-haired boy, throwing an appreciative once-over at Tom once his attention returned to him, "Which implies he has had too much free time and plenty of pent-up energy to vent... Not consistent with someone having an affair with an older girl!"

"You rude ass!" Tom laughed, "What if, and I’m purely speculating here… what if I did win her over and I just weren't a tomcat like you are?"

"Pun intended ..." added Nott. Malfoy grinned.

"Oh well, that’d leave me thoroughly disappointed ... both because I would have loved you as a Tomcat and because I’d have no chance of having you for myself! None of us would!” He added the last bit throwing a mischievous glance in Rosier’s direction, “I mean, how could any of us compete with the-witch-that-kicked-Dumbledore’s-arse?"

"If it makes you feel any better, you didn't have a chance anyway, Cyg... I wouldn't touch you with someone else's wand, you filthy whorehound... no offense Rosier."

“I can only share your sentiment, Riddle.” Sighed Druella.

Walburga cackled while Cygnus clutched a hand to his heart, pretending to be mortally wounded by their words.

In the moment of distraction that followed, Tom exchanged his empty cup of ice cream for Rosier's barely pecked one. Unlike Walburga, the girl offered no resistance but a little pout, the one that always managed to catch Tom’s attention, if only fleetingly.

"Ugh… how you can eat so many sweets without feeling sick ..." Abraxas sighed, looking at the scene with a disgusted expression and pushed the rest of his dessert towards Walburga's expecting hand.

“So, you did get the princess but are waiting… for what? Marriage?” Walburga’s smile faltered and she frowned at the frightening speed with which Tom's ice cream was disappearing past his full lips.

Her grip around Abraxas’ former sundae tightened.

"What did I say about the M word, Wally?" Abraxas whimpered, letting himself fall back against the back of his chair, looking distraught.

"Oh suck it up, you! And stop pitying yourself! It was a matter of time before your father picked a girl for you. And what’s with all the pouting, honestly, it could have been much worse..."

"It could have been your cousin ..." Tom grinned at Walburga's grimace, Orion sighed audibly behind his book.

"Oh, Axe, the girl isn't that bad!" Druella reached out to give Abraxas a comforting pat on the hand.

"So why don't you marry her?" he snapped.

"The Selwyn girl?" Cygnus's mischievous gaze turned sharper, "What are you complaining about, mate? She’s more than easy on the eyes… though bit of a prude… I could wean her for you..."

"Ew! You're disgusting!"

“What? I would gladly sacrifice myself for a friend! You inexperienced girls are only fun up to a certain point, you know? Of course, the offer stands for R…”

"OH, I wouldn't dare finishing that sentence, if I were you." the murderous inflection in Tom's low, menacing tone set both Abraxas and Nott's backs straight and immediately sobered up Cygnus.

"My apologies, Riddle, I stepped over the line. I was merely joking. I would never touch what's yours."

"No, you wouldn't."

There was a moment of heavy silence then Tom reached out to snatch the ice cream from Walburga's hands.

“Only a fool would touch something that's mine ... or forbid me what's his. And you’re not a fool, Cygnus ... or you wouldn't be sitting here."

Tom sat back in his chair and shoved half of the ice cream in his mouth with a single spoonful, no one spoke until he finally diverted his gaze from the nodding Cygnus.

"I'd happily marry Selwyn, Malfoy, if it meant getting rid of Cygnus ..." Druella curled her lips in genuine disgust at the boy.

"Too bad betrothals are already signed, you and Abraxas make a nice whining pair..."

Both Malfoy and Rosier turned to give Orion a dirty look.

"Anyway, if you're done with the nonsense about our love life, or lack thereof," said Rosier, blushing under Tom’s amused gaze, "We can move on... who are the new prefects?"

"Finally! Of course, we have Alphard and Parkinson, there’s Davies and Burton for Ravenclaw, Avery told me last night. No one knows who got the pins in Gryffindor, of course, bloody idiots and their secrecy… as if we won’t be told anyway eventually!" Nott snorted sarcastically, "I'm waiting for Mulciber to tell me about Hufflepuff, he’s got a new bird among the badgers.”

“Guesses on who could it be?”

“Well, if we’re talking grades, my bets would be on..."

"Oh, Riddle," Walburga interrupted, an amused smile playing on her lips.

"Walburga we're done gossiping, do try to keep up, let us sort this o..."

The girl ignored Orion altogether, Tom sighed.

"What is it now?”

"You know those rules about not touching your things?”

"Walburga..." Interjected Rosier, a worried glance darting from the future sister-in-law to Tom.

"Just say it, come on, what about it?”

Walburga smiled, her eyes flickering briefly at something behind Tom, before locking with his once more.

"Granted that I am merely speculating, because you have neither confirmed nor denied any of my ‘silly claims’…" her grin widened, "Assuming Mrs. Granger officially fell into the category of ‘your things’... let's say... recently… like… over the summer!" Tom gestured for her to get to the point, "Well, if that were the case, you'd probably like to explain your no-touching policy to the handsome Hufflepuff Captain too..."

Tom scoffed and hesitated before turning around to glance at whatever Walburga was pointing at with her silver spoon.

“If it is a trick to get my ice-cream, Wally, I swear… Oh! What the fuck!"

Everyone's eyes snapped to the curb, where Mrs. Granger had been standing with Professor Slughorn until few moments ago, except there was no trace of the old professor now.

Mrs. Granger was now chatting with the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain, the seventh year seemed to be offering to carry the ridiculous number of bags hanging from the Assistant's arm while his teammates were excitedly nudging each other’s in the ribs not too far behind.

Mrs. Granger was shaking her head no, politely refusing the offer. Judging by the way her body was leaning backwards, she didn’t look particularly comfortable with the proximity of the boy, towering over her from his 6’5, thought her lips where still curved in a curtesy smile.

“Don’t.” Walburga said, pressing a hand on Nott's chest to prevent the boy from following Riddle, who had already jumped the small fence separating the ice cream parlor courtyard from the sidewalk and was marching briskly towards the scene.

“But…”

"He’s about to make a scene already, Eurus, the three of you would attract too much attention, we don't want Riddle's little secret to spill before school even starts, right?"

Nott nodded and stopped trying to get past Walburga, ordering Abraxas to sit back down with one short glance.

The table fell silent and the small group of Slytherins watched as Riddle approached his prey.

He stepped between the boy and Mrs. Granger gracefully, as if rehearsing the steps of a dance and forcing the boy to step back himself.

No one missed Mrs. Granger hand clutching the back of Riddle’s shirt in warning, just as no one missed the vein in Riddle’s neck throb in response, despite the distance.

The two boys exchanged a few words, Riddle offered a magnetic smile, a smile that seemed the friendliest of smiles but that hid the promise of a slow and painful death.

A moment later, the Hufflepuff gave little polite bow of his head, gestured to his friends and left.

Druella sighed softly.

"Do you think they're really together? Like… as a couple?”

"Oh, Rosier ... If I had doubts before ..." Walburga trailed off and jutted her chin back to the scene.

Druella blushed and looked away when she caught sight of a livid Riddle dragging a furiously blushing Mrs. Granger towards a side alley, despite the woman’s (or girl?) obvious and quite desperate attempts to sink her heels to the ground and wriggle out of his grasp.

"Please, tell me you're going to cry, Rosier ..."

"Shut up, Wally." hissed Abraxas.

"Oh, how cute when you defend her. You do make a cute couple… too bad."

"Walburga." Nott warned, she rolled her eyes.

"I have a feeling it will be a fun year ..."

*******

**“May I come in?”** **She was alone in her compartment** , pout still in place, a couple of small ancient-looking books opened on the table before her.

She didn’t even turn his way.

"Really? Asking Smith to help you with the trunk? Nice touch…"

Tom leaned against the door frame, her nostrils flared, but she held her eyes on the empty seat in front of her and her mouth pressed into a hard line. He scoffed and moved into the compartment then, pretty much challenging her temper. It worked.

Her glare stabbed him on the second step.

"Are you seriously going to keep that up?"

"Keep what up, Tom?"

"Ignoring me?"

"I'm not ignoring you, I’m just sick of arguing… I'd suggest you get back to your compartment and wear your uniform since you're at it, we're almost there."

"We're almost there indeed. Do you really want to fight until the last minute?"

“Actually, I was hoping not to, but the fact that you're here suggests I don't have much of a choice.” Tom rolled his eyes.

“You’re acting childishly, just so you know.”

“Oh! Hi pot, meet kettle!”

“See? I don’t even want to fight anymore but you’re just begging me to lose my temper, Hermione!”

"Well then bring your temper back to your compartment and away from me. I'm the one who's mad, so don't you even think on reversing the roles, Tom."

He scoffed and locked the compartment door behind his back, she gasped.

"Open the door, immediately."

"No. We need to talk this out, I’m not having it."

"No, we don't need to talk. I need space, I told you that. Just let me be."

"What is up with you? Can’t you just let it go for once?"

“Once!?”

“You’re being ridiculous… and you’re just using this whole thing as an excuse ‘cause you’re having second thoughts now that we’re going back to school. Oh! I got it right, haven’t I? What is it now, Hermione? Is it my age again? Are you ashamed of me or something? Just say it and stop clinging to fucking excuses…”

"Wh… I… That’s bullshit and you know it! I’m mad at you because you act like a possessive baboon and have absolutely no trust in me, though, I’d like to remind you, I’ve never…"

"That happened more than a week ago, Hermione! You’ve been brooding for more than a whole frigging week! This…" his finger gestured at something between them, “This is not okay!”

"It could've happened a month ago, for all I care, Tom, you still haven't apologized properly!"

"I have apologized, profusely!"

"'Sorry for caring about you' doesn't really cut it, Tom, not when 'caring for me' translates into making a scene on a crowded street just because one of MY STUDENTS, and I’ll never stress that enough, was asking about my day!"

Tom snorted, raising his brows incredulously.

"Asking about your day, was he? God, your naiveite enrages me..."

She just huffed, shaking her head in disbelief, before finding the way to speak through her outrage.

"You know what? He could've asked me on a date, and it still wouldn’t justify what you did. Believe it or not, I have a brain of my own, I know how to speak for myself! You can't just jump in whenever a boy turns my way, as if..."

"As if I cared about you?" He spat sarcastically.

"Do I strike you as a fickle woman then?"

"Of course not! What does that have to do with.."

"It has everything to do with it, Tom! And if you don't see it, then we got nothing to talk about. I told you I couldn't stand your jealousy rants and we agreed to keep this thing quiet... and not a month later you went on and made a scene in the midst of Diagon Alley, when half the school was there!"

"Christ, again! Nobody even noticed, it wasn’t a scene... it wouldn’t have been if you’d just followed me, for Christ’s sake!"

"AND WHAT ABOUT YOUR FRIENDS?!" She almost yelled, Tom gave her a warning glare and glanced quickly at the door. He knew Abraxas was stalling the corridor, but they hadn’t exactly silenced the compartment and the train was crowded.

Hermione's voice lowered sensibly but didn't lose any of the heat, "What about your friends, Tom! Oh don't roll your eyes at me! I know you told them about us, I'm not an idiot! "

"I didn't tell them anything! I swear!"

"Yeah, right..." She crossed her arms on her chest and Tom sighed.

"I didn't tell them! How do you want me to prove it? I'd let you ask them, if that didn't mean letting them know anyway!" 

Hermione turned to the window, refusing to even hold his gaze, for she probably knew full well he wasn’t being exactly honest.

Tom would have felt guilty had he not been so pissed off himself. So he pulled a ‘Granger’ instead, and clung to technicalities.

Of course his friends knew about them, they weren't a bunch of complete idiots, but he hadn't said anything about it, that much was true... he'd just let them guess…

“I didn’t tell them anything, and even if I did, and I didn’t, they’d keep their mouths shut.” He insisted.

"Marvelous, are you done now? Is there anything you want me to say?"

"I’d love to know that we're fine." He grunted.

"Sure, Tom, everything is fine…"

He growled, his jaw clicked and her shoulders stiffened.

Ok, perhaps, he should’ve tried a different approach.

Tom moved in closer and sighed softly.

"Look at me."

Hermione whirled around in a wild bounce of curls, her breath had left a small fogged circle on the window pane.

Tom forced his features to relax, his gaze to soften. He stuck his hands in his pockets, deflated and shrunk slightly under her hard glare, trying to look less threatening, less angry. She blinked rapidly, probably confused by the sudden change of character.

"Come on, luv, we're almost there," Tom pleaded, "I don't want to get to school with you pouting and ignoring me, it's not like we'll get many chances to talk there. I won’t make any more scenes… I’ll be good.” He smiled softly when those words left his lips. I’ll be good. It had been his line for her throughout all of his childhood, though it sounded so odd coming from him now.

She must have thoughts so too. Her cheeks blushed slightly and her pupils shrunk before widening again at his smile.

“Let's just... make up, my love… please?"

For a moment there he thought he had her.

For a moment it felt as if she were about to give in.

Her eyes flickered to his lips again, Tom made an effort not to curl them in a smirk.

But she must have seen right through him because the moment passed, her eyes locked with his, her expression hardened.

"Nice try, Tom. Now if you don't mind…" she jutted her chin at the door.

God she could be fucking stubborn. At least Tom knew where he’d gotten that from...

"You know what? I've apologized plenty of times for my jealousy, which by the way, saved you from those fucking morons Quidditch players in Diagon Alley, and if you can’t see how they were probably planning on spreading rumors about them picking up a professor, well shame on your gullibility! Also, I’ve said nothing to my friends and I refuse to apologize just because you think otherwise! I’m asking nicely one more time, Hermione... can we make up before we get to school?"

He knew his ultimatum hadn’t sorted the desired effect when pure rage colored her cheeks red.

"What if we can't?" She spat, a defiant glint in her eyes.

"Fine, then. Suit yourself."

"You're flipping the script again, Tom, and I won't feel guilty in your place. Have a nice evening and shut the door on your way out."

Tom smiled mockingly and bowed his head ever so slightly to the left.

He threw the compartment door open.

"Professor Granger."

"Mr. Riddle."

The door closed with a soft clack, but it felt as if he'd slammed it anyway.

*******

**Hermione climbed the stairs to the first floor two by two without even noticing.**

Being an assistant at Hogwarts officially sucked.

She could have sworn starting school hadn't been as tiring last year, though it was easy to see why. Her amount of tasks and responsibilities had pretty much tripled this year.

Dumbledore, who would not have let Hermione touch his paperwork had his life depended on it last year, had now put her in charge of organizing the Transfiguration curricula for the third and fourth year classes.

Dippet had suddenly decided it was the assistant's job to guide first-year students through the first crazy days in the castle, so as to lighten the Heads and prefects' duties.

On top of those not-so-light and already quite time-consuming assignments, Hermione was now supposed to participate in all of Dumbledore's classes as well as helping any professor who asked to borrow her services, and that mainly to keep at bay the discontent that had generated at the news that Dippet would not yet allow the hiring of more assistants.

The first two weeks in the castle had been so exhausting, that Hermione had already started her countdown to the Christmas holidays… not to mention her recent passion for counting down the hours separating her from the weekend.

Still 135 at the moment.

Of course, it didn't help much that she and Tom hadn't been able to reconcile.

Their prehistoric bickering, dating back almost three weeks now, had evolved into an asinine silence from both parties, with Tom refusing to apologize on one side, and Hermione refusing to admit she had gone a little overboard on the other.

They were currently in a stalemate, which was something new, their fights had never lasted that long, but they had never been 'couple rows’ either.

Undecided on how to proceed to resolve the situation, and too busy with work to think about it seriously, Hermione had decided to stick to the stubborn silence policy, spending every minute between one chore and the next, either brooding over how much of an arse Tom could be or trying to come up with the least painful way to reconcile.

Though, that early afternoon, as she climbed the stairs two by two on her way to the library, Hermione was putting together an extensive list of the most effecting methods to wipe the smug from Tom Riddle's face after their recent Transfiguration class.

The brat had raised his hand to answer each of the questions she had asked, just for the sake of letting the name 'Mrs. Granger' roll on his poisonous tongue with each irritatingly correct answer.

Of course, he hadn’t even bothered with whatever Dumbledore had asked instead.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure whether it enraged her more that he was being so fucking obvious or the fact he was drawing gratification in having her openly reward him despite knowing full well she was still as mad as ever.

All she knew was she had never wished to curse his arse this fervently before.

A manic grin spread on her lips as she added spreading embarrassing anecdotes from his childhood around the castle to her list… although, simply slapping the smug off his face bare-handed held its undeniable charm.

God she had to be tired to be thinking about such nonsense…

Hermione turned into the next corridor and stopped short at the sight of the small group of Slytherins gathered at the end of the hall, right in front of the large oak door leading to the library.

"Oh fun-fucking-tastic." she sighed, spotting Abraxas Malfoy.

The boy's presence constituted a 90% chance that Tom would be there as well.

Could she have somehow summoned him with all her mulling over him?

Her stomach lurched.

She was too tired, hungry and angry to play their little game of glares.

Perhaps she could come back for her books later on… yeah. Though her afternoon was pretty much filled… and was she really going to be chased away by a bunch of Slytherins? Plus… there still was that 10% chance he wouldn’t be there…

Hermione squinted slightly at the small army of Slytherins.

Abraxas Malfoy was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets his clear eyes glued to the tip of his shoes, next to him Lestrange and Alphard Black were gesturing animatedly through what appeared to be the commentary of a Quidditch match, which would have explained the blond boy's flamboyant disinterest in the topic.

Eurus Nott was flipping through the pages of a large tome and directing Mulciber into what looked like the wand movements for a modified Exploding Charm, which obviously meant the boys were carrying on with the Charms curricula on their own, as those spells weren't going to be a topic of study for a while more.

Walburga Black was cackling merrily with a blonde Ravenclaw girl, Orion Black stood nearby chatting with s bunch of younger Slytherins.

So far, she hadn’t spotted Tom.

Hermione took a deep breath and made up her mind.

Before her treacherous eyes could find him, she moved forward, eyes trained on the library door and nothing else, she could do this, in and out, she’d just keep her eyes on her goal.

It took exactly five steps.

Five steps, to completely lose sight of the target.

Two seconds for her gaze to tear through the small crowd of green ties and find him.

He was sitting on the ledge of one of the large windows, his legs parted and dangling off its edge, the sleeves of his uniform rolled up at his elbows, a mischievous grin on his lips, his wand in one hand, the other hand playfully rolling a lock of raven-black hair.

Straight and shiny raven-black hair… hair belonging to the offensively charming girl standing between his legs.

Druella Rosier had her back to Tom, elbows resting on his thighs, her head under his chin, her feet crossed at the ankles. She was holding a book open, slightly tilted so that he could read from behind her back.

Hermione gulped painfully through the tight knot suddenly squeezing her throat. She involuntarily grimaced when Druella Rosier’s amazing lips parted prettily to laugh at something Tom was saying.

His ocean speckled eyes filled with mirth, he leaned in closer and used his wand to point at something apparently hilarious in between the pages.

Hermione forced her eyes away from the duo, she met Abraxas’ gaze and nodded in greeting. She didn’t miss the way Malfoy’s pupils shrunk, nor how his gaze quickly darted to Tom and Rosier, both still too busy chuckling to notice Hermione’s presence.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and marched forward, quickening her pace, nodding back here and there at the greetings from the students.

Had this corridor always been this long? And this bright? God, her eyes were burning… maybe she should have asked Dippet to darken those windows slightly… it couldn't be good for anyone’s eyes. So damn bright.

“Riddle! Riddle! WhattheffuckRiddle.” She heard the whispering, she felt his gaze land on her, she made an effort not to look back.

Was there a chance she had underestimated the situation? Hadn’t it been just a normal fight? Had she waited too long? Perhaps he had gotten sick of her tantrums… perhaps he had moved on. Had they ever talked about being exclusive? Wasn’t it implied somehow? Perhaps she was just being silly and jealous… and anxious because of what he had told her on the train… The age thing… and and…

Hermione’s sight blurred ominously.

Something very similar to an anvil sunk in her stomach and she hickuped, sniffled, but held her head high as she walked past the window he was sitting on.

Deep down she knew this whole situation was something more than just them being stubborn.

She knew Tom was expecting something from her.

She knew this was some sort of test meant to get her off her pedestal, out of her comfort zone.

She just knew there was a reason if he wasn’t making it easy for her this once, knew he wanted her to put herself out there the way he had.

Like the kissing thing… she had to learn to ask for things like that, he had been clear about that.

God, it felt like a game of chess and she really sucked at playing chess, but this was her move and she couldn’t just refuse to play altogether mid-game.

Hermione’s hand pressed on the large handle and she pushed the library door open.

She stopped and turned back slowly.

His gaze was burning a hole through her face, lips parted in anticipation.

Hermione hesitated.

Her eyes slipped on Rosier, still standing between Tom’s legs. The girl smiled and nodded slowly in greeting.

Hermione pursed her lips, looked back up at him.

 _"You should've eaten your pie till you had a chance."_ His old warning rung through her head.

She turned around and walked through the door.

*******

**“Jesus, Hermione…”** Tom took a sharp breath, Hermione's mouth traced its way back to bite the spot on his neck that had caused the words to spill. He shuddered under her lips.

Tom wasn't quite sure what had caused her outburst, what had finally triggered her, what had compelled her to push him into that empty classroom, but he certainly wasn't going to complain, not after nearly a month of silence.

Not after more than a whole month without touching her.

She pulled at the collar of his shirt and he smirked, complying to her request, he lowered his head to give her free access to his lips.

Hermione moaned low in her throat and pressed into him in a frantic frenzy, finally showing how desperate she must have been for that touch too.

Her tongue swirled around his in a play of spit and heat, and Tom nearly roared into her mouth when she didn't push his hand away as he squeezed it around her bum, holding her closer to him.

"Fuck ..." was the only word he seemed able to articulate in between kisses.

He repeated it three times in a row, when she rubbed against his obvious erection without complaining, when her exploratory hands ran across his chest and shoulders, when she gently pulled his hair to signal her need to catch her breath.

For a few moments, there was only the sound of their heavy breathing and the semi-darkness of the empty classroom, eyes searching eyes, swollen lips just a breath apart.

Then, Tom exhaled slowly, and let his forehead rest against hers.

“I’m sorry.” He breathed out.

“What for?” She asked looking up through her long lashes.

“For caring about you…” He grinned at her glare.

“I’m sorry too.” She whispered.

“What for?”

“That you are a jealous idiot and that it makes it difficult to forgive you...”

“I'm sorry you're so proud that you border on dullness.”

“I'm sorry you are so stubborn as to border on idiocy…”

Tom snorted and squeezed her bum tighter making her yelp and step closer, her cheek fell against his chest and she let out a small satisfied sound.

"Speaking of jealousy ..."

"Shut up." She mumbled from somewhere under his chin.

"You do know Rosier is betrothed to Cygnus Black, right?"

"I don't see what this has to do with me... or… or us."

"Mh." Tom cocked his head to the side, "Yet I could have sworn that ... mpfh… hey! Hey! Not fair! I won’t accept jealousy kisses, I’m a man of pri… mhpn…fcif… ple… oh fuck."

*******

**Tom wouldn't have been able to explain how or why** but he had known right away that wasn't going to be a good day.

He’d forever remember how, from the very first moment he had opened his eyes, he'd felt that tightness in his chest.

How the distinct feeling that something terrible was going to happen had crushed on him even before he could have formulated coherent thoughts or cursed for having overslept, which might have been an omen in itself, since he'd never overslept on a school day before in his life.

The threatening feeling had followed him out of the green and silver blankets of his bed, crawled under the bathroom door as he washed and dressed in a hurry.

It had haunted him down the dark corridors and made him shiver in the form of the icy drafts whistling through the ancient window frames of the castle.

The feeling hadn't lifted from his chest even when he had finally arrived in the Great Hall, miraculously in time to grab a couple of toasts before the tray could vanish into thin air.

He hadn't said anything to his classmates, but they must have known something was wrong too, because they had been quieter than usual on the way to their classes.

Tom tried to shake off that strange feeling during the first few hours of class with no avail whatsoever.

By midmorning, he was so resigned to the fact that he would not be able to escape whatever was about to happen to him, that he barely even flinched when professor Dumbledore himself came to pull him out of his double Potions class with Hufflepuff.

"Are Mrs. Granger and Abe okay?" Tom asked as soon as he stepped out into the corridor.

The old wizard turned to look at him, a curious light shone behind his eyes at Tom's question.

Tom's heart gave three heavy thuds and skipped a beat under that odd gaze.

He clenched his fist around the wand in his pocket.

Dumbledore smiled at the movement before finally speaking.

"Nothing happened to Mrs. Granger, as per Aberforth, I do believe he is doing just fine, though you'd probably know better than me anyway."

Tom nodded, schooling his expression into one of indifference.

The fucking old man! Did he always have to talk like a tattered book? No wonder even his brother couldn't quite stand him, though Tom had never managed to find out why.

"So... what happened, Professor?"

"I believe Mrs. Granger should be the one to tell you. She’s waiting for us in my office."

Tom bit his tongue to refrain from making further comments and just followed Dumbledore down the dark dungeon and then up the stairs leading to the ground floor.

"So, Mr. Riddle, we haven't had a chance to chat much lately, have we?"

Tom didn't know whether to laugh or scowl at the memory of the last time the man had cornered him in the school library.

Part of him would have liked to simply point out to Dumbledore that they were now almost the same height and that he would no longer flatten himself against the shelves, but gladly punch his hooked nose if he ever tried to intimidate him as it had done in the past.

"How's your research going, Mr. Riddle?"

"My research?"

"I thought you were hunting for your biological parents, Mr. Riddle. Perhaps I was wrong…"

"Oh, why, yes I was, Professor."

Dumbledore said nothing for a while, leading the way towards the wide staircase in the Entrance Hall.

“I see, I knew it wouldn’t take you long to figure it out. Have you had a chance to meet them yet?”

Tom held his next breath. Meet them. They were alive. How did he know? Why? And why did he even care so much? 

"No professor, I'm not quite sure I want to, to be honest." He lied, "I guess I'm still debating whether I shouldn't just be content with the family I got."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.

"You prove yourself as wise as ever, Mr. Riddle." Dumbledore paused and smiled condescendingly, "I would also understand the pungent curiosity to take a look at one's roots, however. Especially when they are supposed to be ... well, unique." 

Tom nodded, narrowing his eyes to the professor's back as he preceded him into the next corridor. It was time to change the subject.

"Professor ... the book you recommended some time ago?"

"Mhmh, oh! Hogwart's a History?"

"It was a rather intriguing book, professor. I never got a chance to thank you for suggesting that reading."

"Of course, I'm glad it was to your liking."

"I have to say, professor, some of its chapters are rather, well hard to believe... is it all true, professor? What's written in it..."

There was a rather long silence, then Dumbledore clicked his tongue under his palate and spoke again.

"I believe you’d have more evidence about the veracity of some of the topics than I could ever have, Mr. Riddle."

Tom kept his lips shut and said no more. He followed the Professor at a safe distance the rest of the way, so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he failed to see Dumbledore's amused glance.

When they reached the door, the professor stopped so abruptly that Tom almost bumped into him. He managed to avoid the collision but still landed a step closer than he’d ever be comfortable with.

Dumbledore stretched a hand and gently pushed on his shoulder to help him regain his balance as he stepped back.

Tom tried resisting the urge, but failed miserably. He started, recoiled from the man’s touch as if a snake had bitten him and gasped softly clutching a hand to his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Riddle, I didn't mean to scare you.” something in his posture suggested exactly the opposite of what his lips were saying.

Tom wondered briefly if the man hadn't perhaps read his earlier thoughts about their meeting in the library...

"No ... you didn't scare me, you just took me by surprise, Professor." He growled through gritted teeth, making an effort to occlude his thoughts.

"About that book, Mr. Riddle ..."

Tom looked up, still unable to stop rubbing his shoulder, although he hated the satisfaction this clearly brought to the professor.

"If you don't mind me offering advice, I would avoid discussing the veracity of its contents with Mrs. Granger."

"May I ask why, Professor?" Not that I was going to talk to her about it, or that it's any of your business, you fucking piece of shit... that he didn't say.

"Just a feeling that she would disagree with exploring certain possibilities ... Moreover, I'm sure you'll soon realize that she has quite a lot on her plate as is. It wouldn't be fair to plague her with more worries."

Tom nodded non-committedly, then turned his gaze to the door in anticipation.

Dumbledore pushed on the handle and gestured for him to get in. His eyes widened at the sight before him instantly.

"Tom!"

"Hermione, what ...?"

Her huge golden eyes were red-rimmed, moist and puffy. Her cheeks streaked with fat tears. Her lips red and chapped.

Hermione ran to him, leaving a trail of handkerchiefs in her path. She crashed into his chest, hiding her face in his uniform and sobbing in despair.

"What happened, my l... Hermione? Hermione, look at me, what happened?" But the crying had become hysterical, Hermione was trying to speak between sobs but all Tom heard were inarticulate noises.

Desperate for an explanation, Tom turned to look for clues in the small office, Dumbledore caught the movement of his eyes, and pointed to a letter on his desk.

"Is Abe okay? Hermione? Fu… look at me, is Abe ok?"

"Again, Mr. Riddle, Aberforth is fine." Tom felt himself releasing the breath he’d been holding.

"Hermione?" He tried to pull her back but she clung to his clothes more fiercely, shaking her head against him, muttering nonsense.

Tom gave a quick glance at Dumbledore and saw the man nod, if only imperceptibly, as if knowing what Tom was asking permission for.

“Hermione? Calm down, ok? What happened?” He grabbed her by the shoulders firmly, pulled her off his chest and shook her a little for her to look at him. Finally she snapped out of it, her huge eyes found his and she sobbed miserably.

"The children! Tom! The children!" She cried.

"The ... children? What children?"

"Tom! We have to ... the children! I have to! We owe it!"

"Hermione, will you please calm down? What children? Professor?"

But Hermione didn't give Dumbledore time to explain, she marched to the desk and came back clutching a letter in her fist. She shook it under Tom's nose as if that alone could somehow answer all of his questions.

"Let me see." He tried to grab the paper, but she kept shaking it excitedly.

The letter tore when he tried snatching it form Hermione's fist, she gasped a little, Tom glared at her before glimpsing at the piece of paper that was left in his hand.

_'ool._

_dren._

_times._

That was all that was left on what he’d managed to tore away from her, before he could ask for the other piece of the letter, Hermione spoke up.

"The children at the orphanage... Mrs. Cole ... Tom! We have to ... I have to go!"

"The orphanage?" Tom felt the blood drain from his face.

"Tom, Mrs. Cole, died... the orphanage is being seized!" Hermione staggered dangerously and Tom narrowly took her before she hit the carpet, "She’s dead, Amy too… they both… Tom, the orphans are alone! Eric is still there. He won’t have a place to go! Tom, Eric! He’s not even 13! We must go ... we must go back! "

"I ... Hermione ... I ... what could we ever do? How… who wrote this?"

"Please, Tom, please! He needs us."

“Who wrote the letter?”

“Ch… Charlie.” Hermione sobbed, “he's in the army, he can't take care of him ... Eric asked him for help but he ... oh, Tom ...”

"How ... how did he know where to find you? It’s… been so long…"

"Mrs. Cole ... I left her an emergency address, Charlie must have found it ... Tom, what does it matter now?" She was confused, large eyes searching his. Tom wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

"You ... were you still in contact with them?" He didn't know why it was so important for her to answer that, but it was. In fact, for some reason, he felt like their whole future depended on the answer to that question. So he sighed in relief when, after a short pause, Hermione gave the only answer he would’ve been able to live with.

"No. They had never written before, nor I to them... Oh, Tom… we can’t ignore them! We can’t!” Hell yes, they could.

“Why?” The question made Hermione gasp softly. Before she could say anymore, Dumbledore cut in.

"I spoke with the Headmaster already, he’d like to grant you and Mrs. Granger a week's leave," he said, "I believe it to be a reasonable amount of time to find accommodation for the child… or children. We could also get you a list of possible alternative orphanages, you could check if they have any room for them..."

"A week?" Hermione asked faintly.

"Honestly, Mrs. Granger, more time than that would be a bit inconvenient for the school and you must consider the Muggle war is still..."

But Hermione had already turned away from the professor, her watery eyes fixed in Tom's, her hands dug in his biceps.

"A week, Tom! One week and we'll be back. Let me make it… up to him. We… I left… Tom."

“I’m… not.. I don’t, Hermione, I…”

“Please, don’t let me go by myself, please.”

“Hermione, I…” Tom’s head felt empty and light, his blood on the other hand. His blood was boiling through his vein, he knew she could feel his temperature raising.

“We won’t stay anywhere near the orphanage, anywhere near Dorset Street.” She blurted out, “We won’t! We’ll… rent something in Diagon, I saved some money, I... I beg you, he’s all alone! I won’t… we will just see that he has a roof over his head! Just him… please.”

Tom wanted to cry. He wanted to cry and scream. Slap her, push her away and scream even harder.

He wanted to tear the whole room down, to drop on the floor and beg her not to go. Beg her not to care.

He wanted to cuss and slap the odd expression on Dumbledore’s face too.

He wanted to implore her not to take him back there.

Especially if it were for the other children. It should’ve been just the two of them… just the two of them.

Hermione’s eyes were still searching his, her breath was stuck in her throat, she kept shaking violently, raising the back of her hand to wipe away snot and tears from her face at regular intervals.

Tom had never seen her so… broken.

No. I’m not going. You deal with that shit on your own. I won’t ever step in Muggle London ever again. JUST NO FUCKING WAY. Eric should just fucking die whatever death Muggles die from… possibly, a painful one.

Tom parted his lips, pursed them, parted them again.

“Please.” Her voice came so faint, so fragile and his heart melted and he hated her a little for the power she held over him.

He sighed and hugged her closer, pushing her face in the crane of his neck. He nodded to Dumbledore, watching silently as the man began to fill out the paperwork.

He shushed Hermione tenderly, as she sobbed, muttering thanks, whispering how much she loved him, how grateful she was he was safe. Tom rocked her gently when she begun breathing out unintelligible phrases, whose only common denominator were the words 'my fault' and ‘abandoned’.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay. We’ll make sure he’s safe, ok? Make sure he’s fine and then come back…Shh." Tom hugged her tighter when he felt her pressing harder against him, as if he were the only thing she could hold on to, the only safe haven she could took refuge in.

Being the one offering shelter instead of the one looking for it for once, proved oddly comforting, and Tom plunged into that little glimmer of light in the darkness, the ultimate proof that she finally needed him just as much as he needed her.


End file.
